


In Your Black Heart (Is Where You'll Find Me)

by graceling_in_a_suit



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Pirate, Anal Fingering, Fantasy, Historical Inaccuracy, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Murder, Non-Traditional Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Omega Harry, Omega Louis, Omega/Omega, Rimming, Sexism, Slavery, Swordfighting, Treasure Hunting, swashbuckling! romance! lying about your gender! what more could you want, the author knows nothing about sailing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-01
Updated: 2019-03-01
Packaged: 2019-11-07 14:45:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 35,954
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17962565
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/graceling_in_a_suit/pseuds/graceling_in_a_suit
Summary: Louis Tomlinson has been lying for five years. His crew sees him as a pirate, a Captain, and an alpha; only two of those are the truth. He was content to let the illusion go on forever, but an omega named Harry Styles justhadto join his crew and get his warm-vanilla stink all over Louis' best laid plans.Or: the story of The Captain and The Carpenter.





	1. Prologue

“Mother has informed me the Duke has  _asked_ for my hand in marriage,” Louis spat, words flying out as fast as his sword cut through the air.

Steve looked horrified for a second, then caught himself a moment before Louis could disarm him with an expert parry.

“Are you going to say yes?” he asked, advancing.

Louis scoffed. Steve was one of his dearest friends, and they'd grown close over the past year that he'd been teaching Louis swordfighting, but sometimes he could be such a  _beta_.

“I have no choice, Steve. It's mate him or be thrown in the stocks for daring to humiliate his lordship.” He didn't tell Steve of his plan; the less people who knew, the easier it would be.

Louis sidestepped, Steve's sword very nearly missing his side. He distracted Steve with a feint to the right, then ducked and rolled around his back. Steve tried to recover, but Louis was faster. He'd whacked Steve's sword to the ground before he even had a chance to intercept.

Steve shook out his hand, then turned. “Congratulations, Louis, it seems the pupil has become–”

“ _What_ is the meaning of this?!”

Louis whirled around on instinct, still fresh from the high of beating his mentor, and his sword was raised to the intruder’s throat before he could see who it was.

And when he recognised his lordship, the Alpha Duke of Westbridge, he gulped.

The Duke’s eyes flashed, and he growled out a command. “Hand me your sword, omega.”

Louis had a wild moment—just a fraction of a moment, really—where he honestly considered simply skewering the foul man then and there. But he had his family to think of, so he lowered his sword. He closed his eyes in defeat as the man snatched the blade from him.

“Is this your doing, Blacksmith?”

Steve looked calm, but Louis knew him well enough to see the fury beneath the collected facade.

“The young Mr. Tomlinson asked to be trained, and I said yes. An omega needs to know how to protect themselves, in these parts.”

Louis almost choked. The Duke was practically red in the face at the insinuation that he couldn't protect the people of his town, let alone his chosen mate. Steve didn't even seem to realise what he'd said wrong.

“We’re done here. Good day,” the Duke bit out. He grabbed Louis by the arm roughly and pulled him back through the smithery and onto the street. “You're never to see him again, Louis.”

Louis rolled his eyes behind the man's back. So much posturing; as if the Duke could stop him.

He was shoved into the Duke’s carriage, and the man spent the rest of the ride to the Tomlinson estate—much humbler than the Duke’s, as his family had only been in this  _charming_ harbourside town for five years—in stony silence.

 

 

 

“An  _omega?_ With a sword? You must hear how ridiculous that sounds, Mrs. Tomlinson.”

Louis leaned his head against the window and stared out at the town, then past the town to the sea. There were few vessels docked in Westbridge’s measly harbour, but one in particular caught his eye. It looked roughed up a little, but still in fighting condition; a medium-sized frigate meant for speed in long travels. There was nothing at all to suggest it was a pirate ship, except the very noticeable lack of cargo on the deck. A ship that small would need to store at least a few things up top, if they hoped to make any money on trade. Louis turned to face the window fully, tuning out the conversation behind him as he squinted at the craft in the distance. There was no flag, nothing to distinguish it from this far away.

“Louis?”

Louis turned attentively, pasting a polite smile on his face only to find he’d somehow missed the Duke’s exit.

His mother looked tired, and sadder than an alpha of her standing had any right to be. “He's asked for the marriage ceremony to happen tomorrow. He says you can't be trusted to not embarrass him.”

And then once Louis was mated, he'd never be seen by anyone for long enough to embarrass him. Louis could read between the lines.

He looked over his shoulder for a moment and imagined the wind whipping through his hair, the freedom of the open ocean he'd always craved. A year of training, a year of being eyed by the town's most eligible bachelor, and yet. He still didn't think he was ready.

But he didn't have a choice.

“I leave tonight, then,” Louis said, meeting his mother's gaze. Her lips downturned, but she'd long since stopped trying to talk him out of his plan.

“Be safe, Louis.”

 

Safe wasn't really an option aboard a pirate ship, he learned. Three weeks he'd been eating mystery-meat stew, trying to pick up as much as he could about sailing in between his duties swabbing the deck, and enduring the leering gazes of the majority-alpha crew.

Even the handful of betas were insufferable, and he was the only omega aboard. Perhaps, even, the only omega pirate in all the seven seas.

Not that he'd seen much piracy thus far.

That changed when he was roused by a swift kick to his hammock.

“Up and at it, O! The Captains got us some fresh meat!”

There was a chorus of cheers from the crew as everyone rushed to get themselves ready. Louis pulled on his boots, grateful as always that he slept fully clothed. He followed the crew onto the deck of the ship and instantly spotted a trading vessel in the waters off the starboard side. Her flag was raised high proclaiming her to be a proud product of the mother country—the crew had already begun to throw out rowdy insults to the Queen despite the fact that they were still a few minutes (and some tricky maneuvering) away from catching her.

The master gunner started shouting orders and crewmates took to the cannons, getting everything ready to blow a hole in the trading vessel’s side. Others aboard were collecting swords from the boatswain, sparring amongst themselves in preparation for what was likely to be a very swift battle.

Louis squirrelled his way over, ducking underneath some of the more hulking alphas. His hand had only just closed over the hilt of a sword when it was smacked away.

“Oi! What do you think you’re doing, swabbie?” The boatswain’s face was painted in a familiar sneer. “Cap’n might let you on the ship out’a the goodness of his heart, but don’t go thinking you can join in on the fun.”

Louis turned his lip up at the man and slipped away before he had to endure anymore insults to his character.

_–An omega? With a sword?_

The words echoed around his brain as he climbed the rigging and watched the trading vessel’s doom unfold. The master gunner commanded his assault well, and the crewmen were organised to swing across and dispatch any remaining sailors aboard their unlucky prize. Overseeing it all was Captain Grimshaw, standing by the quartermaster with a spyglass to his eye. He turned to nod at the boatswain, the ridiculous creation atop his head wobbling with the motion. Louis had only caught a glimpse of the man a few times, but from what he could tell the alpha in question was very fond of large hats.

The boom of the cannons left Louis’ ears ringing, and the boat rocked from the force of the explosions. They were close enough now that Louis could see the trading vessel’s crew running about like headless chickens, water already flooding in through the hole in her chine.   
  
“Get your lily-white asses ready! Captain’s orders,” shouted the boatswain from below. The riggers on the ropes snapped to attention, adjusting the sails so the ship would stay parallel with the trading vessel. Louis helped as best he could, but he was distracted by the movement of the sailors below. They’d produced thick ropes attached to metal hooks, and a few of them had already thrown them across with expert aim. The hooks dug into the railing of the vessel, and within seconds she’d be overrun by pirates. And Louis wasn't allowed to join in on the fun.

 _Well,_ he thought,  _bollocks to that._

Louis whipped around, eyes searching, and the second he spotted a loose-hanging rope, he reached for it.  
  
“Hey! What’ryou–”

Louis wrapped the rope around his wrist and  _jumped._ He leapt from the rigging, sending a wicked grin over his shoulder at the shocked face of his crewmate as he swung across onto the trading vessel.

He landed with a roll, then steadied himself against the railing. The scene in front of him was utter chaos. Pirates swarmed the deck, fighting off the skeleton crew of sailors manning the vessel. The clang of swords and the booming of gunshots would have been enough to make any man cower.   
  
But cower, Louis did not. He saw his chance and he took it, running to intercept what looked to be the First Mate, judging by his epaulettes. He was skirting around the edges of the battle, making his way to the entrance of the cargo hold.

“Going somewhere?” Louis panted out once he’d managed to insert himself between the alpha and his goal.

His mouth gaped in shock, then his face morphed into a sneer.   
  
“Is this what your lot are resorting to now? Sending omegas into battle?”   
  
Louis shifted his feet a little. The wind was ripping through his hair, and men were being stabbed all around him, and  _still_ he had to deal with the same exact shit he’d just run from.

“Only the pretty ones,” Louis retorted, flashing his most disarming smile. Then, he pounced. It only took a knee to the groin and an elbow to the throat for the alpha to fall like a sack of flour, and then it was just a matter of liberating the man’s sword from his waist and a well-placed blow to the head from its hilt for the man to be out of commission.

“Very nice,” Louis commented to himself as he studied his new prize. It looked to be a custom job, intricate curves of silver and gold. Very flashy, but surprisingly well-balanced.

Louis got to test it a moment later when some poor fool thought they could catch him unawares. He swerved their lazy swipe, then whirled around. It was a rather shaky beta, one of the few remaining crewmen from the vessel.   
  
Louis easily knocked the man’s sword from his grip, then slashed a shallow wound across his chest. The man fell to his knees with a strangled noise, hands coming up to stem the flow of blood. It was the kind of wound that would heal in a few days, but it looked serious enough now to cause alarm. Louis leant closer to the man, sword aimed at his heart.   
  
“I suggest you stay down, yeah?”   
  
The beta cowered from him, then nodded without a word.

Louis turned, satisfied with that answer. He came face to face with Captain Grimshaw.

“What’s this, hm?” the alpha grinned. His foot tapped against the wood of the deck, the heel of his very expensive leather boot ringing loudly in the sudden silence. Louis surveyed the damage and counted six dead and fourteen injured; not one of them was a pirate. A swift battle, easily won; just as he'd predicted. “I came to count our riches, and what I  _found_ was an omega with a sword.”   
  
Louis rolled his eyes, ignoring the gasps of a few of the crew behind the Captain. The posturing was so unnecessary, and the man’s thick alpha scent was beginning to clog up his nostrils.

“Just helping out, Captain,” Louis replied sweetly, batting his eyelashes.

To his surprise, the man didn’t order his immediate execution.

Louis had been prepared to fight every last pirate on this godforsaken vessel if he had to, but. The alpha simply threw his head back and laughed.

“Where _have_ you been hiding, little one? Come, we’ve got riches to count,” he said, throwing a companionable arm around Louis’ shoulders and steering him towards the cargo hold. The First Mate made a concerning  _crunch_ when Captain Grimshaw stepped on his chest on his way past, but Louis was too busy focusing on the arm around his shoulder to spare him much thought.

And any passing sympathy he might have had for the man was buried when he took the first step down into the cargo hold.   
  
“Ah,” the Captain commented from behind him on the rickety stairs. “One of  _those_ trading vessels, then.”

Fifty or so angry glares were directed up at them, and Louis felt bile rise up in his throat. The slaves in the cargo hold were bound to the walls, emaciated and pissed to all buggery.   
  
Louis could relate.

“You killed the captain of this vessel, correct?” Louis asked over his shoulder.

The Captain met his gaze and nodded solemnly. In that moment, Louis felt a passing respect for the man, who seemed to at least be on the same page as Louis in this respect.

Then, the Captain snapped into action. “Roberts! Fetch the locksmith, we’ve got quite the task for him.”  
  
The man behind Captain Grimshaw turned and bolted up the stairs, and he was about to follow when Louis stopped him with a hand on his arm.

The man stilled immediately, staring between Louis and his grip like it was an offence to God himself.

Louis refused to rip his hand away.

“What will you do with them?” he asked, trying to keep his voice even.

Grimshaw raised his eyebrows and tugged his hand from Louis’ hold. “You’re very impertinent for an omega.”  
  
Louis chose to ignore that. “I asked you a question.”   
  
The Captain smiled, then, a sharp and dangerous thing. “So you did.” He turned and started climbing up the stairs, only pausing when he noticed Louis wasn’t following. “Meet me in my quarters once the loot’s been divided, and that’s an order.”

Louis gulped, mind racing a mile a minute at the implications behind such a request. “I won’t bed you!” he yelled to the captain’s retreating back.

He was met with the sound of the Captain’s laughter and fifty very angry stares.

“Sorry,” Louis said to the people in the cargo hold. “Someone will be right back.”   
  
Then he scarpered up and out of the hold.

The Captain's quarters were as elegantly decorated as the man himself. Louis looked around with a cynical eye, taking in the tacky knicknacks and the impractical assortment of scarves. It was definitely wonderful, and definitely extravagant. The setting sun was visible through a window on the far wall, and Louis spared a thought to the extra company he and all the other sailors would have in the berth tonight. Some of the more eager-to-please betas had given up their hammocks for the time being, and a few of the alphas as well once the Captain appealed to their chivalry. Louis still had no answer as to what the Captain intended to do with the boat’s new inhabitants, or how he intended to feed all the extra mouths in the long-term.

“Ah! The fiesty one is here!”   
  
Louis turned as Captain Grimshaw entered. The man removed his hat, and it made him look immediately smaller.

“As you ordered, Captain,” Louis shot back dryly. He made himself familiar with the man’s desk, hand skimming over a map pinned to the wood marked with scrawlings and pictures. “You found a diamond in Lapland?”   
  
The man laughed, hands coming down to rest on the wood of the desk across from Louis. He quite rudely ignored Louis’ question. “I like you, little one. Omegas are told to know their place, to stay quiet and indoors, and yet here you are, a swashbuckler to rival the best of my alphas. You remind me of someone.”

Louis raised his eyebrows. At the risk of sounding boastful, he’d been under the impression that he was a rarity in this world. “And who might that be, may I ask?”  
  
Grimshaw smiled, and raised his hands to his throat. He untied his cravat with practiced ease and pulled out a necklace from behind his shirt. The chain was a muted gold colour, with a gaudy pendant the size of a half penny. Louis only caught a glimpse of the ruby set inside for a moment before Grimshaw was pulling it off and dropping the necklace onto the desk carelessly.

Instantly, Louis could feel a change in the room, something different about the air around him. He looked up at the captain as he the realisation struck him, taking in the man with new eyes.

Grimshaw grinned sheepishly.  
  
“You remind me of myself,” he said, like Louis hadn’t already worked it out from the shift in his scent.   
  
The Captain was an omega.

Louis snatched the necklace from the desk, stepping backwards with it and holding the stone up to the light. “How?” he demanded, twisting the pendant and hoping the answer would be conveniently engraved on the back. Naturally, it wasn't.

Grimshaw laughed softly, leaning against his desk with his arms crossed, as if he hadn’t just changed Louis’ entire life.

“Its magic. I picked it up in a marketplace in Constantinople twelve years ago, when I was a cabin boy on my first voyage. It’s much easier to work your way up to captain when you’re an alpha, and it’s served me well in my time.” Grimshaw leaned forwards, a glint in his eye that Louis didn’t like the look of. “And it’ll serve  _you_ well.”   
  
Louis dropped the necklace on the desk as if he’d been burned. “What?”   
  
Grimshaw sighed. “Come now, I can see your potential, your drive. You’re exactly the kind of man a ship needs to lead it, and you know as well as I do you’ll never get anyone to vote for an omega.”

Louis grit his teeth. “Thank you, but I’m not ashamed of my gender. If I’m to lead, my crew will respect me as I am.”  
  
Grimshaw laughed in his face, and didn’t even seem apologetic about it. “What’s your name, little one?”   
  
Louis raised his chin defiantly. “Louis Tomlinson.”   
  
“Well, Louis,” Grimshaw rounded the desk slowly, then plucked the pendant up and pulled it back over his head. “You have until we reach port three days hence to change your mind, because after that everyone aboard this ship is going their separate ways. I’m selling her for all she’s worth and retiring with my riches, and you—you’ll be just another feisty omega with no prospects, no job, and no way home.”   
  
Louis tsked, trying not to show that he was reeling from the news. “I’m more resourceful than you give me credit for, Captain.”

Grimshaw shook his head sadly. “You’re still young, Tomlinson. You’ll learn soon enough that pride is never enough to get you through when everyone around you is determined to take it from you.”  
  
Louis opened his mouth to retort, as he always did, but he found himself without any words. Grimshaw smiled at him, then turned away towards his chest of drawers. “Three days, little one.”   
  
Louis only hesitated for a moment before he took his leave. The deck was sparsely populated, riggers and sailors hanging about listening to the ship’s musician and celebrating a battle well won. They noticed him as he slipped past, and a few of them whistled drunkenly.

“Did you have fun with the Captain, omega?” one of the alphas called. Louis tried to avoid hunching in on himself, but there were so many eyes boring into him, and Grimshaw’s words had burned themselves into his mind. He ignored the jabs and taunts as best he could, trying to block them out like he’d done all his life. Being born into privilege hadn’t saved him from having to hear such comments, and it seemed that neither did proving himself in battle.

Louis was saved from his wallowing the moment he stepped into the berth. The freed slaves were scattered around the room, some sleeping and some talking amongst themselves. None paid him any mind as he made his way over to his hammock.

Louis didn’t know much of the slave trading that occurred with the Americas, but he knew enough to know these people had been ripped from their lives and their families.

He wasn’t like them; he’d chosen for himself to leave. And he had the luxury of choosing to be free, if he so wanted.

That was the last thought on his mind as he fell asleep to the gentle sounds of the ocean and a foreign tongue.   



	2. Five Years Later

“Come  _ on _ , Captain! You know we need fresh blood!”

Louis wrinkled his nose and stared about the tavern. His quartermaster went on, but Louis tuned him out. They'd been over this argument so many times in the past month, ever since they'd lost a huge chunk of their crew to a particularly bloody surprise attack. The Dread Pirate Timothy was now at the bottom of the ocean with his terrible name, godawful ship, useless crew, and ten of Louis’ best men and women. 

He knew Liam was right, of course; they couldn't hope to stay a profitable enterprise with the skeleton crew they currently had. 

“I know you're picky with recruits, Captain. It's a noble quality and we all respect you for it,” Liam was saying, and Louis snorted into his ale at the blatant display of brown-nosing. “But will you at least consider–”

“Alright, alright, you've talked me into it,” Louis belched, standing unsteadily. “Let's ask the barkeep to put up a sign for us and call it a night, shall we?”

Liam grinned like a toddler at a fair, and Louis couldn't stay angry at that face. “What should the sign say? ‘Come to  _ The Black Dagger  _ tomorrow if you wish to partake in a life of piracy?’”

Louis waved excitedly. “Yes! Exactly. And a fine print that says ‘No Knotheads!’”

Liam guffawed loudly, catching the attention of a group of rowdy-looking alphas on the other side of the tavern. 

“Time to go,” Louis slurred to Liam, patting his chest. An alpha and a beta grabbing a drink together wasn’t enough to raise eyebrows, but an alpha and a beta loudly boasting their companionship might do it.

They leant on each other as they hobbled over to the bar, where they settled their tab (plus enough to buy the waitress a new dress after Louis spilled the last of his ale on it), then requested a sign be displayed on the board to the side of the bar in amongst advertisements for used wagons and rooms for rent. 

If Louis hadn't been in such an inebriated state he might have thought better of advertising so blatantly the occupation of his ship, but Liam had plied him with too many ales for the thought to cross his mind. They spent the entire walk home stumbling about and championing their genius idea. 

The next morning, he was far less appreciative. 

Niall—his boatswain—had awoken him with a pitcher of seawater to the face, then proceeded to cackle at the range of expressions Louis went through as he remembered his exploits. 

“Dear god,” he rasped, then cleared his throat. His mouth tasted like rot, his hair was sticking to his face, and he’d gone and fallen asleep in the necklace again (a worryingly regular occurrence) so he had little chain marks on his skin. It was also far too bright in his quarters, since  _ someone  _ had drawn the curtains. “Please tell me I didn’t hang an advertisement in a tavern for new crewmembers–”   


“–That specifically mentioned piracy, and the name of our vessel? Unfortunately, Captain, you did do that.” Niall tried to school his face into something sympathetic. He was utterly unsuccessful. 

Louis glared at him. “What’s that smirk for, Horan,” he ground out, then winced at the pounding in his head. 

Niall shoved some fresh water in his hands and he drunk it gratefully, not taking his eyes off the man over the rim of the cup. 

“Well?” he asked once he was done, wiping at his mouth. 

Niall ignored his question, turning instead to root through the chest at the bottom of Louis’ bed. 

“Horan, for fuck’s sake,” Louis groused, shuffling down to the end of the bed and peeking over at the man. “What is it? The magistrate is waiting on the deck to take us all to jail? Queen Elizabeth is on the half-deck admiring our dearly departed carpenter’s work, waiting to take us all to jail?”   


Niall snorted into the chest then emerged a moment later with Louis’ lovely purple silk shirt, the one he’d stolen off the back of some Earl or other. He threw the item at Louis’ face, then a pair of breeches and some undergarments to go with it. Normally the ensemble would be unacceptable without a third layer overtop, a nice embroidered coat perhaps, but Louis had learned the hard way that his noble standards of dress weren’t ideal for a pirate’s life. 

Louis was in too delicate a shape to protest Niall’s wordless command, so he pulled on the clothes. “I must have been right about the Queen being here, if you’re making me wear a mark of royalty,” Louis sassed as he sorted his collar out. 

Niall waited until he was finished before cracking, face breaking into a shit-eating grin. “It’s not the Queen, Captain,” he grinned, walking over to the door. “It’s our new recruits!”

He pulled open the door with a flourish, and Louis groaned at the sight before him. Twenty or so eager little thieves and scoundrels, rejected sailors and snot-nosed brats barely old enough to hold a sword, standing about on his deck awaiting his verdict.   
  
“I’m going back to bed,” Louis muttered. He turned away from the door, but Niall was faster. He caught Louis by the shoulders and steered him out the doorway, taking advantage of the last few seconds of peace they’d have before someone noticed the Captain observing them to whisper some assurance in his ear.   
  
“It’s just a formality, Louis. Liam and I have already reviewed them, and we can tell you who to throw overboard and who’s got potential.”

Louis made a face at him over his shoulder. They both knew that wouldn’t be necessary. Niall made a face back, then stepped further onto the deck, coming out of the shadow of the half-deck above.   
  
“Alright, ye scurvy mongrels! The cap’n’s here, get yer ugly mugs in line!” he yelled with obvious relish. Louis bit his cheek to control his smile. He shared a fond look with Liam standing over by the hatch. 

The recruits scampered to get themselves organised in a line, and Louis watched the sorry display with a critical eye. He could already tell which of them could be useful from the way they moved alone; it was obvious a few of them had never even been on a ship before from how shaky they were. Not a great sign, considering  _ The Black Dagger  _ was still docked. 

He marched his way over to the left side of the line after they’d managed to get themselves sorted. He made his way across it, eyeing each candidate down. Fifteen alphas, four betas, and—most importantly, if you asked Louis—one omega. He was standing last in line, a little hunched but steady on his feet. A young thing, to be sure; perhaps two or three years younger than Louis, and innocent enough for those years to mean something. He had a head full of curls and brighter green eyes than a black-hearted pirate like himself had seen for quite some time. 

He walked past the omega without pause, like he’d done everyone else, and saw the boy’s shoulders fall a little in his peripheral vision. 

“So you’d like to be pirates, hm?” Louis asked, whirling around to face the potential recruits. “Well, I’ve got some bad news for you; the only jobs left on this lovely ship are for powder monkeys and swabbies.” He grinned a toothy grin that grew wider as a few of the alphas in line scowled. “Anyone who isn’t content with half-shares can walk right now.”

It was an easy enough bluff to call if you knew anything about how a pirate ship was run. Nevertheless, six of the alphas turned tail and made for the dock. Louis waved at their retreating backs, and Liam looked like he was having trouble swallowing a laugh in the background. 

“Alright, the rest of you lot,” Louis scratched his scruff as he considered the remaining fourteen. “Who among you knows a thing about sailing?” 

Only three of them raised their hands.   
  
“Of course,” Louis muttered. “Well, you three are hired. You,” he pointed to a shaky beta, “can go.”   
  
The man looked grateful to have been released from the shitty decision he’d made this morning, and who was Louis if not a man of the people?

Well. A pirate captain. 

“You,” he pointed this time at a burly alpha with a wicked gleam in her eyes and a sword slung across her back. “Know your way around that sword?”   
  
She lifted her chin. “Aye, Captain.”

Louis pulled his own sword from its sheath and flipped it in the air, catching the sharp end of it with careful fingers. Then, he turned and held the hilt out towards the omega still waiting patiently at the end of the line. “Take that, lad.”

The boy looked around with wide eyes, like he was expecting someone to announce that he was being elaborately pranked. Louis raised his eyebrows impatiently, and he scrambled forwards on feet much too big for the rest of him and grabbed the sword. His stance was all wrong when he held it, and under Louis’ watchful gaze he went a little pink in the cheeks. Louis pursed his lips in judgement. 

“Step over there,” he commanded, pointing to a spot on the deck. The boy followed his instruction obediently, and so did the alpha when he directed his stare to her a moment later. 

“Show me what you’ve got,” Louis taunted, coming up to stand behind the omega’s shoulder. The boy was a little taller than him, now that he was standing upright and proud. “Attack this omega.”    
  
In front of him, he saw the omega shudder. His scent, now that Louis was close enough to smell it over the ocean breeze, tinged with fear for just a moment before settling back into a sweet vanilla. A brave one, then.    
  
The alpha looked like she was going to argue for a moment, then set her stance and rolled her neck in preparation. The omega had the sword raised defensively, but it wouldn’t save him from what was sure to be a swift defeat. Louis’ crew looked on curiously, not much else to entertain them before they set sail in a few hours; as used to Louis’ antics as they were, this was definitely a new one. 

The alpha tensed, a moment away from striking, when one of the betas in line stepped forwards. “Wait!” she called. 

Louis held his hand up, and the alpha lowered her sword. “Yes?” 

The beta didn’t shrink under his gaze. “The boy doesn’t even know how to hold a sword, you’re setting him up to fail. It’s not right.”    
  
An alpha next to her stepped forwards. “I agree.”    
  
Louis crossed his arms. “Who else feels the same way?”    
  
The potential recruits shared a few looks amongst themselves, and then five more stepped forwards. 

It left seven still in line, heads bowed and ready to obey. 

“Oi!” Louis called, and they snapped to attention. Louis grinned sharply. “You can all go. You as well, Miss.” He nodded to the alpha standing across from him, sword still drawn. 

All of the recruits looked confused at the proclamation, and Louis uncrossed his arms so he could put them on his hips like a stern grandmother. “This is a pirate ship, not Her Majesty’s Navy. We do things as a team, and we look out for each other. Anyone not willing to tell me no is someone whose vote I can’t trust. Get off my ship.”

Liam started clapping, and a few of the crew that had gathered next to him to watch the show joined in, whooping and hollering.    
  
Louis laughed and blew them a kiss as the last seven of his rejects walked from the ship with their shoulders slumped. 

“Alright! Congratulations,” Louis announced once his crew’s cheers had died down. “Welcome aboard  _ The Black Dagger.  _ You have a week to meet everyone and get settled in before you decide what job you want, curfew is two hours past sunset, gambling is strictly prohibited, and if you need anything just ask your friendly Boatswain. Horan! Say hi!” Louis grinned over his shoulder, and Niall bowed theatrically. 

Amazing how a good power play could completely cure a man of a hangover, Louis mused. Then, he clapped his hands together. “Get yourselves settled in, we’re setting sail at noon.” 

The crew rushed forward to greet their new shipmates and Louis turned back to the omega behind him, who was watching the commotion with a bemused expression. “I’ll have that back now, thank you,” Louis sassed, plucking his sword from the boy’s hand. 

The omega jumped into attention, then blushed. “Um, sorry. I mean–thank you–um,” he stuttered. 

Louis tried not to laugh in deference to the boy’s obvious suffering, but it was really quite difficult. 

He was itching with curiosity about what had lead this omega to join his crew, what kind of life he was leaving behind—if his story was anything similar to Louis’—but he knew better than to ask, by now. He’d expected to find being treated differently by alphas the most drastic change in his life when he’d first started wearing the amulet, but he’d been wrong. The real difficulty lay in remembering himself around other omegas; there were certain things he couldn't say or do that he used to be able to. He had to constantly be thinking back to his past life, how he might have reacted to an alpha saying what he was about to. It was exhausting, and it got harder each pissing year as he grew more and more used to living as an alpha.

“It’s alright, lad,” he said, trying to sound as soothing as possible. The boy’s scent calmed back down, and he smiled. “What’s your name?”   
  
The boy squared his shoulders. “Harry Styles, Captain. Can I ask, if you don’t mind–” he cut himself off to frown. “You said we could chose our jobs? Even… me?” He looked down to his shoes, then back up at Louis under his eyelashes. 

Louis gave him an unimpressed look. “Stop that,” he admonished, lifting the boy’s chin back up with two fingers. “And stand up straight,” he added while he was at it, and the boy rushed to obey. “You heard what I said, no need to go fishing for something that’s already there. We’ve two omega’s on our crew already, and they contribute exactly what they want to. If anyone tries to tell you otherwise or make things hard for you, you can come to me.”

Louis regretted the words the second they were out of his mouth. He was a captain, not a boatswain; it wasn’t his job to deal with cuts and bruises and spats and stolen socks, and it certainly wasn’t his job to give anyone special attention. He hadn’t told the last two omegas he’d hired that they could come to him, so what made this one different? The second he asked himself that, Louis realised the answer: he hadn’t held their hands because they’d reminded him of himself. Zayn and Leigh-Anne had come to his ship pissed to all hell about the state of the world, and they’d been ready to fight him for their place on board. 

But this omega—this ‘Harry’—he was nothing like Louis. He was soft and sweet, a cherub without the wings, and he was so eager to please. He might have been a perfect specimen of their gender if it wasn’t for a certain steadiness he had. It was something stubborn, something good little omegas never dared show. Louis had made him take a sword and face down an alpha, and he’d  _ done _ it. He hadn’t fought like Louis would have, but he didn’t cower and bare his neck. It was… interesting. 

Harry’s face lit up at Louis’ words. Louis’ hangover creeped back into the forefront of his mind from the brightness of his smile; it was ridiculously radiant. The fucker had  _ dimples,  _ he was every alpha’s goddam wet dream. Thank goodness the ones on Louis’ ship were well-trained enough to keep their hands to themselves; Louis hated to think about what would happen to an omega like this on any other ship.

“Thanks, Captain,” he purred. Louis squinted into the middle distance to distract himself from the sudden shift in his scent, from vanilla to cinnamon-roses. 

_ Dear god,  _ Louis thought.  _ Save me from another omega with a crush. _

Louis had been through this far too many times to count. It made no sense to him, because he only  _ smelt  _ like an alpha, and sure that was enough for him to access the privileges of being one, but it didn’t change his body shape and his  _ everything else.  _ He was an omega, he loved being an omega, but one whiff of him and other omegas instantly thought he’d make a great mate. What a cruel joke for all involved. 

“Yes, well,” Louis said a little awkwardly, scrambling for an excuse. “It’s my job.” 

Harry’s scent took a nosedive into citrus and pine wood, and he ducked his head again. 

_ Fuck me, now he’s embarrassed.  _ Louis looked around frantically for someone who could save him from this mortifying conversation, and managed to catch Niall’s eyes from across the deck. The man instantly headed towards him, and Louis had never been more grateful.

“Hey, what did I say about keeping your chin up,” Louis chided, then took a step away from the lad as he raised his chin to reveal a slight pout on his perfect pink lips. Good lord. “Look, here’s Niall Horan! He’ll help you get settled in.” 

He caught Niall by the shoulders and pushed him towards Harry. Then, he turned on his heel and headed towards the helm. He had important captain’s business to attend to, and he most certainly was  _ not  _ running away from a clueless omega and his far-too-easy-to-read scent. 

 

 

“What’s crawled up your ass and died?” Niall asked over dinner, mouth half-full of stale bread he insisted was ‘fine if you soaked it in stew for a while’. 

Louis scowled, and Niall waved at his expression vaguely. 

“See?” he turned his attention to the man sitting next to him, arm casually slung across his shoulders. 

“Yeah, I see,” Zayn answered, then made a considering noise. “Do you think that’s where Jim the bunk rat’s gone? Haven’t seen him in a few.”

Louis lobbed a chunk of the rock-hard bread at his navigator. Zayn caught it easily, then grinned at him much too angelically. 

“Turn that off before someone goes blind,” Louis huffed, and Zayn obligingly schooled his features. 

Liam appeared over his shoulder. 

“Who’s going blind?” 

Zayn nudged Niall, who turned to address Liam. “The Captain is, Payno, once Jim the bunkrat reaches his head and starts eating his eyes form the inside.”

“Right,” Liam replied slowly. “That have anything to do with the new recruit he’s avoiding? You know,” he added unsurely, “the one with the curls? The omega?”

Zayn sat up and scanned the galley with sharp eyes while Niall pulled Liam down next to him excitedly.    
  
“Stop, that’s not what it's about.” Louis crossed his arms, pushing his half-eaten stew away. 

“Tommo,” Niall patted his hand, “you’re a terrible liar. Liam! Tell me everything you know.”

Liam leaned in conspiratorially. “The Captain asked me to keep an eye on him.”

Zayn and Niall waited for a moment, then their faces fell. 

“Is that it?”

Liam shrugged helplessly. 

Zayn kicked Louis under the table. “Spill.”

Louis kicked him back and said nothing. 

“Oh, come on,” Niall whined. “You’ve never had your eye on anyone before! I’ve seen omegas and betas literally throw their clothes at you, and you barely batted an eyelid! Hell, for a while there I figured you were just into other Alphas, but then all that stuff last Winter happened with–”

“Stop talking. Right now.”   
  
Niall gulped, eyes wide. It wasn’t often Louis snapped at anyone, and Louis felt instantly remorseful. Liam and Zayn sat in silence on either side of Niall, and the general noise level of the room had quietened at his command. 

Louis sighed and ran a hand down his face. “I’m going to bed,” he said in a low voice. “Try not to chinwag about my love life while I’m gone.”

He stood and made for the door, glad to find the conversation in the room bounced back to its usual rowdy volume. 

He paused for a second at the doorway, eyes searching. Liam, Niall, and Zayn had already begun a whispered conversation, likely about his tantrum, but that wasn’t what caught his attention. 

In the corner of the room, sitting a little apart from the group of new recruits, was a curly-haired omega staring right at him with two alert green eyes. 

Louis smiled awkwardly, not expecting to have been caught staring, and Harry had just begun to grin back when Louis escaped up onto the deck. 

He hoped a good night’s sleep might...help, somehow. 

 

 

He was wrong. 

_ Very  _ wrong. 

It had been fourteen good nights of sleep, and still Harry remained a problem. 

He was just always  _ there.  _ He was on the deck listening to Liam describe the duties of a quartermaster while Louis was consulting with Zayn about their bearings, he was up the sails with the riggers learning the anatomy of a ship while Louis was trying to assess the wear on their mizzen mast, he was in the galley with Olly when Louis was… well, loitering about trying to steal a biscuit, but. That was his right as Captain. 

The point was that Louis was seeing a lot of him, and it was far too much for him to handle. 

Especially when the wind ruffled his curls in an artful way and he grinned over at Louis like a blasted cherubim. Or when he tried to catch Louis’ attention as he passed with a cheery, “morning, Captain!”, and then his scent would shift into pine and citrus whenever Louis only nodded back. 

Really, Louis would have been coping fine if his crew would just  _ let it go.  _

“So I was talking to the new lad, he seems quite smitten with you.”    
  
Today’s attack came from an unexpected place. Ed Sheeran had approached him while he was looking through his spyglass at a Navy vessel twenty leagues off and contemplating if he should bother to sink her. 

“Oh, for god’s sake,” Louis muttered, lowering his spyglass and taking in the musician’s waggling eyebrows. “Not you, too.”

Ed laughed, leaning his arms against the railing. “I know it's not my place, Captain, but the crew’s been muttering all week about it. It’s not often we get a good piece of gossip.”

Louis rolled his eyes. “There’s a new bit of gossip every other day, Ed.”

Ed shrugged. “Yeah, but none of it’s about you. We voted for ya, we get to talk about you behind your back. It’s the basics of democracy.”

Louis laughed despite himself. “Is that so?”   
  
Ed nodded seriously. “Yep. So you’d best get used to people muttering about this.”

“There’s nothing  _ to _ mutter about,” Louis sighed. He caught a glimpse of Harry over Ed’s shoulder catching a lecture from the Master Gunner about the proper handling of gunpowder. Harry turned to meet his gaze instantly, and Louis had no idea how he did that; it was like he could always sense when Louis was looking at him, and it was  _ creepy.  _

Then, Harry smiled in that angelic way he did. Louis could fucking smell him from halfway across the ship, happy wafts of vanilla. Always so pleased to have an Alpha’s attention.   
  
Louis turned back to Ed grumpily. “He doesn’t know what he wants. Or if he does, it’s certainly not me.”

Ed’s jovial stance firmed up into something more sincere. “You sure about that, Captain?”    
  
Louis clenched his jaw, fighting the urge to fiddle with the necklace around his neck. There were moments it felt so heavy, so itchy, and yet he owed it everything he had.

“Yes.”

Ed shrugged like he couldn’t care less, but there was still something in his eyes that told Louis he cared quite a lot. “We only gossip because we’re excited for you, Captain. We just want you to be happy.”   
  
Well, now Louis felt terrible. He ducked his head and looked back out to sea. “I know.”   
  
Ed tipped his hat, then trotted down to the deck to entertain the riggers with an afternoon shanty. Louis went back to studying the distant Naval ship. 

 

 

Louis had been going around all day asking the new recruits what roles they’d like to settle into and offering some advice if they were unsure. It wasn’t strictly his job, but Niall had asked him to do it—something about making them feel welcome—and Louis was always willing to do what his crew required of him. 

He was only beginning to suspect his boatswain had ulterior motives when he was tracking down the last fresh-faced pirate he needed to speak with.    
  
“Oi!” Louis called up at Zayn, who was standing at the navigator’s helm. They were due for some tough waters in a few hours as they came in to port in Tunis (the nearest pirate haven, a perfect spot to lay low until that Naval ship that had been pursuing them from a distance for a few days lost interest). So, he really shouldn't have been bothering his navigator with this, but. “Have you seen Harry?”

Zayn looked down at him from the half deck and rolled his eyes. “What, because we’re both omegas I must know where he is at all times?”

Louis bit down a laugh at the irony. “Oh, buss my blind cheeks, fucker, you know that’s not what I meant. Answer the bloody question.”

Zayn’s face broke into a teasing grin and he pointed up at the crow’s nest. Louis looked up, holding a hand over his eyes and squinting through the harsh sunlight. Sure enough, he spotted a head of curly hair resting on surprisingly toned arms, staring off at the horizon. 

“He’s got time to lay about, does he?” Louis muttered, making for the main mast. It was an easy enough feat to climb up the pole and swing himself into the crow’s nest; he’d done it thousands of times back in his lookout days. He used to be quite the sailmonkey, before the trappings of responsibility made an honest man out of him.    
  
“Oh! Captain!” Harry scrambled when he spotted Louis. He’d pushed himself to an awkward standing position by the time Louis was next to him. He had two hands gripping the mast and half his body pressed against it, stumbling a little with the movement of the waves. “I’m sorry, I was just–”

“Keeping watch?” Louis finished for him. He reached out and pried Harry’s hands from the mast, ignoring the lad’s panicked expression. “Come on, you can do this. Centre your feet, move with the ship. You’re a pirate now, start acting like it.”

Harry’s hand twitched by his side like he was fighting down the instinct to ignore Louis and cling to the mast for his life, but he swallowed and set his shoulders instead. “Aye aye, cap’n,” he drawled, only stumbling a little as another big wave hit the bow and the ship shuddered. “Shiver me timbers.”

Louis bit his lip, but his laughter spilled out of him without his consent. “That’s the spirit.”

Harry grinned and ducked his head. He ruffled his hair around a little, then pushed it away from his face. It didn’t help any; his fringe bounced right back into his eyes. Louis eyed it critically. 

“I came to ask if you’ve decided what role you’d like to take aboard  _ The Black Dagger. _ ”

Harry spluttered a little when a harsh gust of wind sent some of his hair into his mouth. “I have, yes,” he coughed. His scent turned rosy and green, like a garden in spring. “I’d like to be your carpenter, please.”   
  
Louis’ eyebrows raised. “Is that so?”   
  
The garden caught on fire a little, but Harry didn’t wilt under Louis’ surprised expression. Instead, he lifted his chin. “Yes. My mother was a carpenter, she taught me everything she knew.”

Louis scratched at his scruff for a moment in thought, and then a grin spread across his face. “Sounds perfect, Harry. We’ve been needing a carpenter for a few weeks now. And you’ve got the hands for it, too; look at those paws.”

Harry laughed, and the garden grew ten times in size. “Thank you,” he said, fidgeting with his hair again. “I grew them myself.”

“Did you now?” Louis teased, and then he realised what he was doing with the soft looks and the scratchy voice and the fucking  _ flirting.  _ Lord have mercy, this was why Louis had been avoiding the lad.    
  
Harry giggled like a maiden at the theatre, still pushing his hair from his face. 

“Alright, I’ve had enough of that,” Louis snapped without heat. He tried to keep the warmth from his voice this time, but he had no way to know if it had worked. “Here, you’ll never be able to see what you’re building with that mop in your face.” Louis reached up to his own hair as he talked, untying the leather band that kept his hair from his face. He’d kept it short for most of his life as a sort of protest to the standards the aristocracy demanded of him, but he’d let it grow out to reach his shoulders more recently. The second his hair was free from its tie it whipped into his face and he spluttered a little, making Harry laugh. 

“Don’t you need that?”    
  
Louis threw the tie at Harry’s face then tucked his hair behind his ears. “I’ve got plenty.”   
  
Harry caught the tie easily—fast reflexes on him, it would suit him well in this life—then stared down at it with gentle awe.    
  
“Alright, it’s not a diamond, calm down,” Louis snapped, a little defensive. 

Harry didn’t answer. He just reached up and pulled the top half of his hair into the world’s smallest, cutest pony tail and tied it off with a little bow. 

Louis gulped. This was so ridiculous. Here he was, five years into a long con, everyone around him convinced he was an alpha, and he had everything he’d ever wanted because of it. Harry Styles and his tiny bow should not compare, not in the least because he’d run screaming the moment Louis took his necklace off. They always did.

Louis turned and hoisted himself from the crow’s nest. “We’re making port in Tunis soon. Have a list ready of anything you think we’ll need for the ship, Master Carpenter.”

Harry nodded eagerly, already looking down at the deck and scanning for things that might need fixing. Louis shook his head as he made his way down the mast. 

He had a few lists of his own he needed to make. 

 

 

 

“Captain?”    


Louis turned his head to the side to catch a glimpse of his navigator, hands not leaving the helm. Bringing a ship the size of  _ The Black Dagger  _ into dock was a tricky piece of maneuvering, but Louis had plenty of practice. 

“Yes, love?”

Zayn leant against his side. “Navy’s still on our tail.”   
  
Louis sighed. “I was afraid of that. Don’t worry, I’ll take care of it.”   
  
Zayn looked doubtful, but he nodded.    
  
“Ready the anchor,” Louis yelled. Liam echoed the command a moment later. The sails had already been furled; they were just coasting forwards on momentum. Louis paused for a moment, waiting for the ship to line up with the dock, the called, “Send her on down!”

Calvin gave him a sarcastic salute, and he and a few other crew members hurled the anchor overboard. A wave of cheering swept over the main deck as a mighty splash sounded. Even though it had only been a fortnight since they’d been docked, Louis understood the excitement. Always lots of fun to be had at port towns for a black-hearted pirate. 

Especially since drinking, gambling, and whoring were banned onboard Louis’ ship. 

“Alright, you all know the rules,” Louis yelled over the cheering and roughhousing. “Off you bloody go.”

Louis grinned at the mayhem on his main deck, his crew scrambling to get the plank settled down on the dock so they could have their fun. There were a few other frigates of  _ The Black Dagger’s  _ size docked in the harbour, which gave Louis some hope that they wouldn’t be instantly spotted by the approaching navy. Plenty of pirate ships to shake a lawbook at in Tunis, and if that failed, Louis had many a back-up plan. 

His eyes caught on Harry (as they often did) who was hanging towards the back of the pack. Fresh-faced and bushy tailed, he awaited his very important first task as a carpenter. Louis hadn’t assigned anyone to go over Harry’s list of supplies, he’d just handed the boy a sack of gold and a firm nod. Louis had learned alot about being a leader during his time as Captain, and one of the most important lessons was how to let people sink or swim. You want a task done right and a crewmember who takes ownership of their role? You give them all the tools they need to succeed, set them loose, and wait. 

Most likely, Harry would flounder a little, make a few missteps and very possibly get mugged, before he settled into his role with confidence. Of course, Louis could have been wrong about the boy; he could crumble under the lack of guidance, come running back to the alpha in charge with wide eyes and a plea for mercy. It wouldn’t be the first time that had happened (though he’d be the first of Louis’ omegas to do so). 

But there was something about the way Harry was standing, shoulders set and an excited spark to his eyes, that gave Louis faith.    
  


 

It hadn’t been easy to ditch all of his crewmembers. Crawling from taphouse to taphouse usually meant a few stragglers were left behind, which was exactly what Louis had been counting on. He’d narrowed it down to Ed and Liam by sunset, which wasn’t an unimpressive feat. Still, he needed to go further. 

“I’ll be right back, I’ve just got to go take a piss,” Louis yelled over the noise of the tavern. Ed and Liam waved him off, and Louis only felt a little bad about the lie as he swerved on his way to the bathrooms and pushed through the back exit instead.   
  
He took a deep breath then immediately regretted it. There were so many  _ smells  _ in the alleyway he was in. He wrinkled his nose, trying not to think about the fresh vomit, the less-fresh semen, the day old blood...   
  
Pirate haven’s never promised to be lovely places, but they normally didn’t make Louis’ stomach turn. 

He took a step towards the street, still crowded with carts and merchants and groups of locals enjoying their dinner, then paused as another wave of smells made him almost gag. 

Oh. 

_ Oh.  _

Louis cursed, rubbing his eyes. He wished he didn’t know what this was about, but, alas. He always got especially sensitive to smells (and then sounds, and then touch) when his heat was coming up. 

Her Majesty’s tits and bollocks, he did  _ not  _ have time for this. How was it possible it was here so soon? He’d had his winter heat only two months ago, it was  _ barely  _ time for his spring heat. What had he been doing lately? They’d been so regular for five years, like clockwork. The only time they’d gotten out of sync was last winter, when he’d been the closest he’d ever come to giving in and bedding someone. But that didn’t help at all, he wasn’t—

Shit. 

Two revelations in the space of as many minutes was utterly ridiculous. Louis growled and pinched his nose and stamped his foot, trying to shake the anger and frustration from his system. 

He was a big bad Pirate Captain about to do important Pirate Things. Harry  _ sodding _ Styles and his wonderful vanilla scent and his soft skin and annoying habit of batting his eyelashes at Louis like a maiden with no dowry had gone and cast some sort of nature-defying spell on Louis’ insides. 

And now Louis was going to have to do his favourite thing in his least favourite situation: improvise while heat-stricken. At least no one would be able to smell it on him with his necklace on. 

He’d made it work for five whole years by scheduling his heats around the times when they’d had extended stays in ports; his heat only ever lasted two days, so he was lucky in that regard. This time, though, his crew already had a schedule in place, and docking in Tunis was as much of a deviation as they could allow. They had places to be; they didn’t have time for Louis to sweat himself dry in an inn for three days. 

A camel bleated at him angrily, and Louis jumped backwards out of its path. He shook himself off, focusing on the noises around him that were bombarding his eardrums and the smells of the street that were burning his nostrils. It made his stomach lurch to do so, but it grounded him in reality. 

He straightened his coat, set his shoulders, and creeped back towards the docks. He had work to do, after all. 

It didn’t take him very long to spot the naval vessel that had been following them. She was a massive galleon, a sight to behold: puffy-chested and elegant, even with her stockiness. Louis loitered by a merchant craft that was being unloaded as he studied her. She’d been left in the middle of the harbour—far too big to dock at such a crowded port—but Louis could see a few rowboats streaming off of her headed to shore. They’d arrive shortly, and then the fun could begin.

Louis made himself look busy until the officers stepped off their boats and tied them off with practiced knots.

He stuck to the shadows—made easier by the setting sun—as he followed the six naval officers inland. It was obvious from the way they all congregated as a pack, street dogs without an owner, that their superior officer was still aboard the ship. 

“Where do we even start? This port is crawling with pirates, we can’t arrest them all,” one of them bemoaned. 

“Shut your yapping, Rogerson. The Captain told us to see what we could find out about those sea-rats we’ve been chasing, nothing more.” He sniffed. “Simple enough, if you ask me.”   
  
“Yeah, about as simple as a needle in a haystack,” the first one grumbled.   
  
The group was making its way into town towards the taverns that Louis’ crew were spread out in, but Louis wasn’t worried. They were all smart enough not to run their mouths (unlike Louis, who put up delightful little piracy-announcing posters when he was sloshed, apparently). 

“Alright, well,” one of them pondered, “Why don’t we split up?”

_ Great idea,  _ Louis thought, smiling to himself from the alleyway he was lurking in.

“Sounds like a plan, Phillips. Me and you’ll take this one, you four can take those two taverns over there, and we’ll meet back here in an hour.”   
  
Grunts of agreement, then shuffling feet.    
  
Louis waited for a beat, and slunk across the street into a tavern after the first two men. He scanned the room quickly, glad to find none of his crew inside. It would make what Louis was about to do a whole lot easier. 

He stuck to the walls, hugging corners and skirting around tables as inconspicuously as he could. The establishment was full to bursting, so it was blessedly easy to blend in. Louis eventually arrived at where the naval officers were standing and questioning a pair of local drunks so unsuccessfully it was almost comical. 

Louis took a deep breath, then pulled the pendant out from his shirt. He lifted it over his head, then pocketed it safely in his coat. He distracted himself by mussing up his hair a little, opening his shirt so his collarbones peaked out, but all the while he was thinking about how he barely recognised his own scent anymore. 

Which was fucking unfortunate, because Louis smelled  _ lovely.  _ He’d been told all his life what a good little omega he was, the soft smiles and the soft skin and the scent like a field of peonies on a Summer’s day. Just because Louis had grown to resent such comments didn’t mean they had never meant something to him, or that they still didn’t. 

“Come on, they don’t know anything.” One of the officers grabbed his mate, and they stepped away from the table.   
  
And right into Louis. 

“Oh!” Louis gasped, clutching his chest and averting his gaze. 

The two alphas in front of him stilled for a moment. 

“I’m sorry,” Louis rasped out, looking up from beneath his eyelashes.    
  
One of the men swallowed, and the other rolled his eyes. “Watch where you’re going, O, ‘fore someone puts a leash on you,” he bit out. 

Louis tried to look appropriately scolded.   
  
The other officer, slightly younger, elbowed his mate. “Come off it, he didn’t mean anything by it.”

The first alpha tsked. 

The other one turned back to Louis. “D’you know anything about a ship by the name of  _ The Black Dagger,  _ sweetheart?” 

Louis smiled at him, like he didn’t know perfectly well that an alpha with kind words was equally as dangerous as one that spat cruel ones at him.

“I was just talking to an alpha a moment ago who sails on that ship!” He straightened his shoulders and preened, playing up how happy he was to be helpful. 

“Really?” Officer Rot-for-brains asked, suddenly interested. “Where did he go?”   
  
_ Bold of you to assume it was a he,  _ Louis thought. 

“Oh! I can take you to him!” was what he actually said. 

“That would be lovely, sweetheart. You’re being so good for us,” Officer Knot-for-brains cooed. 

Louis turned so the man couldn’t see the expression of pure disgust on his face. “Just this way,” he purred over his shoulder, once he’d schooled his features. 

The men followed, foolishly. They followed to the back door of the tavern, and out of the door, and onto the empty alleyway. 

The stopped following when Louis turned and rammed his elbow into Officer Rot-for-brain’s nose. It broke with a sickening  _ crack,  _ blood spurting everywhere. 

“What the  _ fuck–” _

Louis kneed him in the groin and sent him to his knees. The other alpha was standing there like a spooked goat, mouth agape. He didn’t even pretend to try to stop Louis as he kicked the first man in the head, sending him crashing to the ground in amongst the piss and dirt on the street. 

Only then did he startle into action, coming at Louis with a sort of bear-hug attack. Louis evaded his arms easily, almost laughing as he ducked around to the man’s back. He’d forgotten how trivial fights were when he wasn’t pretending to be something he wasn’t. Upstanding alphas and betas wouldn’t  _ dare  _ harm prime breeding stock like himself. It made them so much easier to incapacitate. 

Even though the alpha was taller than Louis, Louis still managed to catch him in a chokehold from behind. The man’s feet scrambled against the dirt road, never finding purchase, and his hands clawed at the sleeves of Louis’ coat. The struggling was short lived; he passed out in Louis’ arms soon enough. 

Louis let him fall to the floor with a satisfying  _ thump,  _ then tidied himself up. He’d just finished pulling the pendant back over his head when he heard a noise from behind him. 

He turned to find Harry standing in the doorway that lead to the tavern, rosy-cheeked and wild-haired. 

“Oh! There you are!” he said brightly, then stilled. He took in the two men at Louis’ feet. 

Louis crossed his arms over his chest, waiting for the judgement or the horror or the admiration. He’d seen it all. 

But then Harry stepped out onto the street, letting the door close behind him, and he simply asked, “Can I help?”   
  
Louis was taken aback. He recovered quickly, of course, but. Point to Harry for managing to surprise him. 

“Absolutely not,” he answered. He took a knee beside Officer Rot-for-brains, patting down his pockets. He only found a small pouch of silvers and a drinking flask. The silvers went in Louis’ coat and the flask went down the street. “Don’t you have supplies to purchase?

“I’ve already finished with that. Please?” Harry knelt next to him, watching him pat down the other officer. “Or, will you at least tell me why you killed them?”   
  
Louis looked at him in shock. “What? No, Harry, they’re not  _ dead.  _ Christ.”

Harry’s scent turned crisp and smoky, and it was a comfort in amongst all of the horrible smells bombarding Louis’ nose. He’d managed to tune them out while he had a job to do, but in between tasks it was becoming a little Too Much again. “Oh, yeah, that makes sense. I just assumed because you’re, um. A pirate.”

_ And because you’ve never seen a dead man before,  _ Louis thought.

He pocketed the compass and gold the second officer had on him with a wry grin. “Aye, laddie, that I am,” he joked, laying it on thick. 

Harry laughed. 

The thing about Harry’s laugh was that it was  _ loud _ . A loud, squawkish thing with more joy than grace. And yet despite its noise, and how close Louis was to said noise, it didn’t make his ears ring. Hell, the clopping of hooves from the street fifty metres away was making Louis’ ears ring, Harry had  _ no  _ right to be sitting there with all of his… himness, making Louis’ soon-to-be-heat-muddled insides congeal and quieten. 

“Alright, you’ve won me over,” Louis groused. “You can help.”   
  
Harry grinned and ducked his head. “Yay,” he cheered softly.    
  
“Mhm. And you’re first task is to strip that man there of all his clothes.” Louis pointed to Officer Rot-for-brains and his lovely shit-stained uniform. “Yay.” 

Harry blinked a few times, face white. “Is that a joke?”   
  
Louis rolled the other officer onto his back and whipped his coat off with a swift motion. “Do I look like I’m joking?” Next came the shirt, then the breeches. He left the man in his undergarments and shoes; more than he was owed, if you asked Louis. 

Harry started to copy his movements with a resigned expression, and Louis choked on a laugh. 

“Don’t look so sad about it, Curly;  _ you _ asked.”   
  
Harry ignored the jab, unbuttoning the alpha’s shirt with averted eyes. “Why are we doing this?”

Louis answered in the form of an action. He stood and shucked his coat, then his waistcoat, then pulled his loose-fitting shirt over his head. Where a moment ago Harry had practically been a blushing bride at the sight of an alpha’s chest, he was now staring at Louis’ with uncomfortable intensity. It would have made a shyer man cower, but Louis tried to just ignore it. 

He swapped his own shirt and coat for the Officer’s, then pulled on the man’s breeches as well. 

It was absolutely revolting, to be standing there in an unfamiliar alpha’s sweat-and-dirt-soaked clothes, and it was the kind of horrifying sensory experience that would have usually made Louis lose control and curl up into a ball at this stage in his heat cycle. 

And yet. 

And yet there was something grounding him, something that Louis resented as much as he craved.    
  
Harry’s attention, ridiculously sincere and impossibly focused, was like something he could feel against his skin, something calming. 

He could have thrown a tantrum like his inner five year old wanted, but instead he sighed sharply. Harry snapped his gaze away guiltily, no doubt sensing Louis’ anger, but that. That was immeasurably worse. 

“Come on, Curly, get the nice man’s uniform on. We’re going on an adventure.” Louis prodded Harry’s foot with his own, trying to keep his voice light. 

Harry stumbled to his feet, and raised his clumsy mittens up to his shirt. He pulled it over his head, then got a little stuck. Louis waited patiently, swallowing his smile, as Harry tugged the material off, curls bouncing free and face flushed. He shivered despite the warmth of the night, then bent down to pull the Officer’s shirt and coat on. 

Louis had made a concerted effort to not gawk at Harry’s chest because (unlike some people) he didn’t want to make anyone uncomfortable. Still, he mourned the disappearance of Harry’s milky-white flesh as he straightened the collar of his shirt and fiddled with the coat sleeves.   
  
“Can I wear my own breeches?”    
  
Louis tsked. “Absolutely not.”   
  
Harry rolled his eyes but obeyed, and this time Louis had to physically look away. 

_ Don’t be creepy, don’t be creepy,  _ he chanted, casting his eyes skyward. He’d only got a brief flash of thigh, but it had been enough to send his mind spiralling. All of his hard work to stay away from Harry, to not let his… infatuation get to this point, slaughtered in one fell swoop. 

“Okay, I’m ready,” Harry mumbled. 

Louis cleared his throat then looked him over, purely for the purposes of the mission. “Straighten that belt a little.”   
  
Harry ducked his head as he did, then he ran a hand through his hair. His scent was tinged with pear: sharp but sweet. Louis took a step closer to him without meaning to, and Harry looked up instantly. Their eyes met for a moment—Harry’s wide and a little pleading, Louis’ narrowed and focused. 

The pear turned to cider, sparkling and bubbling and fragrant. Harry’s whole body was turned towards Louis, like a flower to the sun. 

He blinked, the slow soft blink of a kitten, and Louis almost closed the distance between them. 

Then a drunk started shouting from a street away, and Louis’ winced. He stumbled back, hand to his ear. 

“Are you okay?” Harry’s hand hovered over Louis’ arm, and the heat of his skin almost burned through two layers of fabric. 

Louis took a deep breath of his scent, tuned out the rest of the world, and shook himself off. 

“Yes. I’m fine.” He kept his words clipped lest Harry hear the lie. He turned and started walking, then shot a glance over his shoulder. “Coming?”   
  
Harry still looked concerned, but he jogged to catch up. He walked by Louis’ side, and Louis couldn’t help but admire him. Not even Louis had ever dared to walk next to an alpha in public, let alone an alpha in a position of power over him. 

The thought almost sent him spiralling again, but Louis swallowed it down. He could hate himself later, when he was writhing about empty and burning for two days. 

The docks were far less crowded now the sun had set properly, crescent moon providing little light for the workers. Torches were set up every so often, but it was still easy to stick to the shadows.

He caught Harry by the sleeve once they’d reached the area the Officer’s rowboats were docked at. “You know you don’t actually have to come with me, right?”   
  
Harry looked between the rowboats and the majestic, royal beast sitting out in the harbour. Louis awaited his verdict impatiently; he knew there was no way he’d be stable enough to make the trip on his own with how fast his symptoms were progressing. Still, he wanted to give the boy a choice. 

“What’s the plan?” Harry huddled closer to Louis, and Louis turned to face him. It wasn’t an answer per se, but Louis took it as one.

“ _ Sabotage,”  _ he whispered in his best French accent. 

Harry snorted, and Louis felt the exhalation of air hit his cheek. His foolish, terrible, mutinous body shivered in pleasure. Truly, how ridiculous. 

Louis nodded to the boats, then he and Harry marched towards them. 

“Stop hunching,” Louis hissed, fingers moving nimbly to unfasten one of the ropes. “Confidence! You’re just a navy man untying a boat.”   
  
Harry nodded, then leant down to help Louis with the ropes. Together they loosened the knot, then Louis reached out to steady the rowboat before it floated away.    
  
“Hop in.” He looked up at Harry, who seemed suddenly panicked.    
  
He knelt on the pier hesitantly, then shifted so his feet were pressed against the wooden floor of the rowboat.    
  
“That’s it,” Louis soothed, adjusting his grip. “I’ve got you.”   
  
Harry pushed himself off the pier and stood in the boat, wobbled for a moment, then collapsed onto the seat. His face was pale but he looked up at Louis with triumph and awe. 

“Not been on many boats, hm?” Louis hopped down across from the lad, pulling out the oars.    
  
Harry shook his head, hands gripping the sides like he was expecting it to capsize any moment. Louis snorted and started rowing. 

Eventually Harry’s hands loosened on the wood, and he laughed to himself. “This is kind of nice, actually,” he mumbled, pulling his hands into his lap and fiddling with them. 

Louis hummed, concentrating on rowing. The material of his shirt was pulling against his back with every movement, and it felt like chafing on a sweaty Summer’s day.    
  
Harry shifted forwards on his seat. He looked out at the moonlit harbour, the soft waves bouying them towards their destination, and cleared his throat. 

“It’s kind of romantic, actually.” 

Louisi whipped his head up. Harry was still staring at the waves, but there was a dash of crushed mint in his scent that told Louis he’d meant exactly what he’d said. 

Louis was utterly speechless for a moment. 

“Only because I’m the one doing all the work,” he rasped out, turning back to the oars. 

Harry opened his mouth the say something, but Louis cut him off. “We’re here.”

He looked behind him with a start, taking in the Naval ship up close. It towered over them like a floating fortress, easily three times the size of  _ The Black Dagger _ . Harry gulped, and Louis’ traitorous eyes tracked the movement. 

He pulled the oars from the water and dumped them in the boat. They were floating a few feet from the stern, and Louis eyed the distance calculatingly. Louis had no way to know if anyone had seen their approach, but it wouldn’t matter anyway, what with their ingenious disguise. 

“Alright, so your job is to stay here with the boat,” Louis started, “and I–”

“What?” Harry crossed his arms over his chest, a deep groove carving itself into his brow. “No. I’m coming with you.”   
  
Louis sighed. He pushed some hair out of his face, ignoring the way the wind whipping the strands against his skin felt like a cat-o’-nine-tails. “Harry,” he pleaded.

Harry set his jaw. “I can help.”

Louis recognised the display for what it was. He leaned across the boat and pried one of Harry’s hands from his chest. It was a little bigger than his own, of course, and he almost lost himself in the grooves of Harry’s palm, the calluses on his fingers. Harry’s scent edged away from gunmetal and back towards vanilla. “You don’t have anything to prove,” Louis said softly. He pulled his spare dagger from his boot and placed it’s hilt in Harry’s palm, then closed his fingers around it. “I’m trusting you to stay here and protect this boat so that I can get out of this alive.”

Harry stared down at the dagger for a few moments, waterfall of curls blocking Louis from reading his expression. 

Then, he looked up. His face was set with determination. “Aye, aye, cap’n.”   
  
Louis cracked a grin, and Harry did the same.    
  
“Good lad,” Louis praised. He turned away to prepare himself to dive overboard, but a sudden spike in Harry’s scent gave him pause. It smelled like a garden of blooming night-jasmine, vibrant and overpowering. The hair on Louis’ arms stood on end, and he had to grip the edge of the rowboat until his nails dug into the wood to stop himself from tackling Harry and shoving his nose in his neck. 

That would definitely be creepy behaviour, and Louis had promised himself he’d do none of that. 

“Thanks,” Harry mumbled. The night jasmines wouldn’t  _ stop  _ blooming. Louis stood on two shaky legs and nodded to him, then jumped into the water of the harbour. He’d kept his body straight so as to make the smallest splash possible, so the water hit him pretty much all at once. It wasn’t the coldest water he’d swum in, but with the way his skin stung it might as well have been. He kicked his way over to the naval ship, coming up for air once he was right up against her stern. 

He sent a glance over his shoulder and found Harry staring at him, head propped up against a fist and curls fluttering in the breeze. Louis turned back to the ship, grumbling to himself. It just wasn’t very fair, was all. 

He kept his body pressed against the ship as he swam around to her starboard side. He spotted a rope hanging over board, flopping around in the wind, practically  _ begging  _ Louis to climb it. 

He’d been hoping the crew had been idiotic enough to leave a rope from when they’d lowered their shore party down. But… Louis realised he was being harsh in that judgement as he curled the rope around his wrist and started scaling the side of the ship. The real idiot in the situation was the one that decided to dress up as a sailor and climb a three-story naval vessel not  _ nearly  _ long enough after sunset. 

Louis reached the railing of the vessel after several minutes of exertion (longer than it should have taken, with his shaking hands and heat-weak muscles) then peaked onto the deck. There were a few sailors milling about, mostly gathered on the port side. They were playing a game of cards with the least amount of enthusiasm Louis had ever seen. 

Louis judged the distance to a door he could see sitting innocently below the half deck. Louis was willing to bet it lead somewhere important. Not that Louis was a gambling man, per se. 

_ But maybe these sailors would like to be _ , he mused, reaching into his pocket and fishing out the coinpurse he’d liberated from the man who’s uniform he was currently wearing. His arm muscle strained to hold him up one-handed, so he adjusted his feet against the wood and steadied himself. Carefully—very carefully—he pulled his arm back then threw the purse over the deck and crashing down onto planks next to the group. 

Their eyes turned to it straight away, recognising the familiar clink of metal on metal, and not a one of them thought to take a gander at the direction the flying gold had come from. They were far too busy pushing each other out of the way to claim the prize. 

_ Typical underpaid officers,  _ Louis thought, rolling his eyes. There’d be none of that aboard  _ his _ ship.

Louis vaulted over the railing, landing on his toes. The honest men were still making dishonest thieves out of themselves, so Louis wasted no time. He crept over to the door then rushed through it, closing it behind him. 

When he turned to take in his surroundings, he found himself in a corridor. The narrow walls pressed in on either side, and Louis scowled. He didn’t fancy being trapped. A door to the left stood slightly ajar, voices drifting out from inside. Louis rushed past before he could process the hushed words being spoken; he wasn’t here for secrets, and it wouldn’t do to get himself caught for being nosy. 

The next door was more promising. It was empty, Louis could tell from pressing his ear to the wood, and when he peeked inside he found a desk facing a small window, piled high with maps. 

Louis smirked and let himself in. He ran his fingers over the fine work in front of him, the very latest cartographical knowledge drawn by the Queen’s best. 

_ I’ll take that, thank you,  _ he thought. His eyes twinkled as he gathered all the maps in the room—every last fucking one—into a neat pile. He rolled the pile into a tight scroll, then pulled the leather band holding his fringe at bay from his hair to keep it fastened. He tucked the thick scroll under his arm, gave the room a once-over for anything valuable, and pocketed a rather expensive-looking compass along with a gawdy sextant and spyglass. 

Zayn would appreciate the gifts, he was sure. 

He checked the hallway was clear before sneaking back out of the navigator’s room. 

He squinted down the hallway, finding only one more door left unexplored. It was a rather large set of double doors, designed for dramatic entrances and exits, and it most  _ certainly  _ led to the captain’s quarters. 

Louis looked from one end of the hallway to another, giving himself a split-second to decide between a speedy exit and his own curiosity. 

He chose the latter, if only because the sabotage he’d committed thus far had been nothing to brag to Harry about.   
  
Or to his crew about, or anyone, really. 

He approached the captain’s quarters carefully, listening out for any pauses to the hushed whispers still floating down the hallway. 

The closer he got to the room, the more he began to notice a familiar smell. It gave him pause, because for the life of him he couldn’t put his finger on what it was. 

But since he didn’t have time for mysteries, he pushed through the doors. The room was blessedly empty and cursedly loud. Not loud in a noise sense, of course—though the assault to Louis’ nostrils was akin to having your ear shouted off by a man who’s fortune you’d just won in a game of dice.

Did Louis say he wasn’t a gambling man? Because that was the god’s honest truth. A captain never gambles. A captain only wins. 

But, winning was not what he was currently doing. He had to prop himself up against a wall to keep from fainting, stomach betraying him and head pounding from the assault to his senses. 

The familiarity of the smell of this room had only increased, but all Louis could say was that the captain of this vessel was a male alpha who rarely washed his sheets. In fact, Louis was sure he’d  _ never  _ washed his sheets. 

Louis considered leaving the alpha a nice little liquid-and-solid surprise in the form of vomit on his bed as a thank you for being such a wonderful human being, but his dignity demanded more of him. 

It took him a minute, but he eventually managed to get his revaulting body under control. He surveyed the room clinically, from the expensive bottle of port on the table to the collection of impractical, antique swords on the wall. 

If the man was as pompous as his room was, it was no wonder Louis could barely stand the smell of him. 

He stumbled over to the table, wincing as a fresh waft of fumes assaulted Louis from the bed.

_ Charming,  _ Louis thought,  _ he’s had guests.  _

Surely Her Majesty wouldn’t approve. Louis dragged the bottle of port closer to him, then uncapped the lid of the shiny glass bottle. He reached into his pockets and retrieved the two compasses he’d shoved in there—one from an officer, one from a navigator, both equally exquisite. He placed them on the wood of the table with a shaky hand, then pulled his dagger from his boot—a perfect mate to the one currently clutched in Harry’s hand. 

Louis Tomlinson was an omega of many talents, and finesse was  _ usually  _ one of them. But standing in a room surrounded by a scent his very flesh was trying to viscerally reject, he didn’t even try for it. He just brought the blade of the dagger down on the face of the compass, then held its bleeding corpse over the open bottle of port. The fluid dripped in, and Louis found himself breathing easier with the smell of mineral spirits drowning out everything else, poisonous though it was. 

He copied the action with the second compass once the first had been fully emptied. The bottle of port filled up by half a thumb, but the colour of the liquid inside didn’t change. it was unlikely that a person not experiencing heat symptoms would be able to smell anything amiss. They’d just drink then find themselves suddenly numb and short of breath—should slow the ship down a little, if their captain was deathly ill.

Louis capped the port and gently set it back in its place, then pocketed the husks of the compasses. 

It wasn’t until he was in the hallway sneaking past the whispering voices that he heard something familiar enough that he was finally able to put his finger on the smell. 

“They won’t escape us for long. We have them cornered, and if they try to run we’ll just follow,” came the voice of the Alpha Duke of Westbridge, now Captain of Her Majesty’s  _ Cavaleir.  _

The prevailing thought Louis had as he slunk his way off the ship and shimmied down the rope—other than how glad he was he’d decided to drain  _ two  _ compasses into that port instead of just one—was how scathingly apt it was that Louis couldn’t even remember the man’s name.

“Did you do it?” Harry asked, leaning over the edge of the rowboat to pull Louis up. 

Louis collapsed into the bottom of the boat, a soggy shivering mess. His hair was sticking to his face without his band holding it at bay, and the maps he’d stolen were dripping onto his shoes. 

He blinked up at Harry, trying to sort through the thickening fog in his brain. “Perhaps,” he said, lips heavy. “It remains to be seen.”

Harry nodded, like he was content with such a cryptic answer, then he smiled shyly and offered Louis his dagger back. He leaned down a little as he did, giant hand filled with Louis’ second most precious weapon settling on his soaked thigh. 

Louis couldn’t stop himself this time. He leaned closer, pressing his nose to Harry’s neck and just  _ breathing.  _ The instant relief his body felt was like falling into a hammock after a long day of sailing, like soaking your sore feet in warm water. Harry stilled completely, barely even breathing as Louis did nothing but. 

“Louis?” 

Louis hummed, nuzzling closer into Harry’s neck. It was just so  _ warm,  _ and he’d been good all night, hadn’t he? He’d done his part for his crew, and hopefully he’d stalled the navy long enough to get them somewhere else safe. He’d had to put up with that awful man’s  _ awful  _ stench for a solid ten minutes, hadn’t he earned this?

“Louis, are you…”   
  
Harry’s voice broke through the fog, deep and sweet and  _ flowers _ like his scent was. 

Louis froze. He was scenting an omega he barely knew in a rowboat right next to a ship he’d just robbed. 

He reared back, scrambling away from Harry until his back hit the stern of the rowboat. “Harry,” he started, then cleared his throat. The omega was staring at him with perfect focus, like a streetcat eyeing a mouse. His scent was almost overpowering, heady and full. He smelled like rose oil and burning candles, he smelled like– fuck. He smelled like  _ slick.  _ “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to do that.” Louis words tumbled out of him, clumsy in a way he rarely was.

Harry’s fingers closed over the dagger still in his hands, and he stared down at his lap for a few long moments. When he looked up, it was with a soft smile.    
  
“It’s alright.” He straightened his shoulders and stared Louis down. Such a brave young thing, like Louis himself. “I didn’t mind.”    
  
Right. 

Well. 

That was not what Louis’ heat-addled brain wanted to hear. He pulled himself into a more comfortable position, then cleared his throat. 

“I’ll let you keep that dagger if you row us back to shore.”

Harry’s brow pinched, eyes flitting between Louis, the dagger, and the docks in the distance. 

“Uh, um. I’ll do it, but,” Harry mumbled, shoving the dagger down his boot and grabbing up the oars. “How do you row?”   
  
It startled a laugh out of Louis, and Harry brightened at the noise. His scent calmed into something Louis was more familiar with.

“Rowing is easy,” Louis answered. “Especially for you, with your giant hands. Here, rest the oars like this–” Louis leaned forward to fiddle with Harry’s grip and positioning, and he could smell rose oil again.

It was going to be a long journey back to shore.

 

 

The first thing Louis did once safely back in his quarters was lock the door. Then, for good measure, he shoved a chair under the handle. 

His breathing was coming out in pants, and his clothing was stuck to his skin from sweat. He pulled every last item off, then shoved them in a corner under a spare blanket to cover the smell of a foreign alpha. 

He took a seat at his desk shakily and picked up his quill. He ignored Harry knocking at the door and pulled out a fresh sheet of parchment. 

_ Dearest Liam,  _ he scrawled. 

“Louis? Are you alright?”  


Who exactly had given Harry permission to call him by his first name? It was the very  _ last  _ thing he wanted to be hearing at the moment.   
  
_ Please see to it that nobody disturbs me for as long as it takes until I recover from this illness.  _

Illness was the best excuse he could come up with on such short notice. God willing, he wouldn’t take off the necklace in his frenzied state. There would be no way to explain  _ that  _ to a ship full of pirates.

“I can help you, Louis. Won’t you let me take care of you?” came Harry’s mournful voice from the other side of the door. 

What a perfect little omega, just wants to take care of his alpha. Louis resolutely ignored him, though his every muscle ached with the strain of that decision. If Harry didn’t give up soon, Louis was worried he wouldn’t be able to stop himself from ripping that door open, getting down on his knees, and  _ begging _ to be taken care of. Harry would do it so well, too, they’d be so perfect together if only–

–If only Louis hadn’t been lying to him. 

_ Tell Zayn to stick to the course he’s charted.  _ His writing was barely legible at this point, but his heart was beating too loudly in his ears for him to care. 

He signed the letter, then pushed himself to his feet. He noticed a wet patch on the chair and grimaced. He hadn’t even realised  _ that  _ had started, the incessant leaking. It was so strange to experience his heat with the necklace still around his neck. It felt like it was happening to someone else’s body; he couldn’t even smell himself. 

His heart started aching as much as the rest of him. 

Pushing himself towards the door was like scaling a mountain, but he managed. He collapsed on the ground, leaning his sweaty forehead against the chair he’d wedged under the handle. 

“Louis?”   
  
Harry’s voice was close, like he was on his knees and pressed up against the wood on the other side.

“I know you don’t know me very well, but you can trust me. I just want to help you.”

Louis almost scoffed.  _ You don’t even know what’s happening,  _ he thought.  _ If you did, you certainly wouldn’t be offering that.  _

He pressed the letter under the door and sent it through the gap. Clearing his throat, he rasped out, “Can you give that to Liam?”

Harry sighed sadly, and Louis shivered. 

“Of course,” he said, then came a scuffling noise and the sound of retreating footsteps. 

Louis hated himself more with each step Harry took. He squeezed his eyes shut, then crawled back towards the bed. 

Another heat spent with only his hand for company.

 


	3. Chapter 3

 Something changed after his heat.

Louis emerged two days later with enough false bravado to cover up how ashamed he was of his actions, and the crew had teased him for being under the weather, and everything seemed to go back to normal.

Except Harry.

If Louis thought he couldn’t escape him before, then he was sorely mistaken. It seemed the boy was everywhere Louis looked, tracking him with his eyes and trying to corner him every two seconds.

Louis tried to avoid him, since he couldn’t think of a way to say, _I’m sorry I shoved my nose in your neck and gave you hope that perhaps the alpha you fancy wanted you back and then locked you out of my room for two days and also I’m not an alpha at all I’m an omega like you wait why are you throwing up–_

Well. He couldn’t think of a _nicer_ way to say all of that.

So he didn’t say anything at all.

And Harry wasn’t making it easy on him.

“I made you something,” he said, after having grabbed Louis on his way to see Zayn. His Navigator had been pouring over the maps Louis gifted him the second he’d been well enough to remember who he’d stolen them for, and he’d been rather cryptic over breakfast about something or other he’d discovered in their depths.

But Louis would have to wait another minute to interrogate him about it, since Harry was standing beside him with one hand on his elbow and one hand holding out a strip of leather.

Louis frowned in confusion, and Harry’s smile wilted a little.

Today, he smelled like bee’s wax and oak. He’d been busy making repairs around the ship with the supplies he’d bought in Tunis, and it filled Louis with a stabbing sort of pride every time he saw something around the ship Harry’d fixed—a sanded edge that used to be jagged, a new step on the stairs where there used to be a gap, a new cupboard for the galley.

Harry’s hand was covered in small cuts and calluses, and Louis ached to kiss it better. (If he’d been hoping his infatuation would pass after his heat did, than he’d been a fool.)

Harry was still staring at him and holding out his gift, so Louis licked his lips and tried to remember how to talk. “What–um. What is it?”  
Harry’s smile brightened back up, and he didn’t even stumble as a wave hit the bow and the whole ship shuddered. “It’s a new tie for your hair, since you gave me one of yours.”  
  
Louis’ eyebrows raised. He plucked the strip of leather from Harry’s hand and studied it. He could see an intricate pattern of roses cut into the leather with care and precision, and he felt a sudden urge to throw himself overboard into the choppy waters to escape from the mess of adoration and guilt Harry was making of his insides.

But he didn’t, of course, because he was a fucking Captain and not a quivering streetrat.

“Thank you, Harry,” he said softly. He cleared his throat, then raised the leather to his head. He usually either tied his hair back in a low bun, or wrapped a band around his hairline to keep it all from his face. Today, he pulled his fringe back and tied it off along with the top half of his hair into a tiny ponytail, like Harry had done when Louis first leant him a tie.

Harry watched with slightly parted lips and rosy cheeks. “You’re welcome,” he rasped out.

Louis swore he could hear Harry’s heart beating in his chest, a happy rhythm.

“Yes, well,” Louis evaded, squinting out at the horizon. “It’s a lovely gift.”  
  
Harry leant closer, and all Louis could smell was wax and oak and jasmine. “A lovely gift for a lovely–”

“Captain!”

Louis took a shocked step back, suddenly realising how close he and Harry had been standing. He looked over Harry’s shoulder and saw Zayn waving at him from the half-deck.

Harry’s followed his gaze with a stormy expression, lips pouted.   
  
As much as Louis was aching to know the end of Harry’s sentence, he recognised a blessing when he saw one.

This was the exact reason he’d been avoiding Harry; he had no self control around him.

So, he stepped past Harry and towards Zayn.

“You’d better get back to work.”

Harry turned from Zayn to Louis, and the grumpiness melted off his face like snow in Spring. “Aye aye, cap’n,” he mumbled around his grin. He stole a final glance at Louis over his shoulder as he headed towards the hatch.

Louis let out a deep breath then made his way over to Zayn, who was now waiting for him at the bottom of the stairs.

Zayn looked like he was about to say something, then looked around at the busy deck. Louis realised everyone had probably just witnessed whatever the hell _that_ was, and he wasn’t looking forward to all the new gossip it would spark.

“Come on,” Zayn mumbled, dragging Louis into the navigator’s office. It wasn’t as nice as the one on the naval ship, but Zayn had decorated it with silks and pottery and scrolls—little bits of his own culture as well as others that he’d picked up in his travels. He rounded on Louis the second he shut the door behind himself. “You know what he’s doing, right?”

Louis pretended to fiddle with a carving of an elephant on Zayn’s desk. “Do I?”

Zayn crossed his arms over his chest. “He’s courting you.”

Louis froze. He put the elephant down slowly, then looked up at Zayn with wide eyes.

Zayn nodded. “That’s how omega’s do it, trust me.”

Louis wanted to scoff, but he couldn’t. It wasn’t Zayn’s fault he didn’t think Louis would know anything about being an omega.

And… it wasn’t like he was wrong. How had it not occurred to him what Harry was doing? The long stares, the way he was so eager to please, the offer to help him through his… sickness, the _gift–_

“Shit,” Louis breathed. He never should have accepted that gift, now Harry was just going to keep giving him presents and attention. He was never going to know a moment’s peace.

“Exactly.” Zayn poked a finger into Louis’ chest accusingly. “I like that boy, Louis. He’s sweet and he doesn’t deserve to get his heart broken.”

This time, Louis _did_ scoff. “You think I don’t know that, Zayn?”   
  
“So let him down! Tell him to stop!”

Louis faltered.

Zayn leant backwards and took Louis in, as if with fresh eyes. “Louis… Do you want to mate him?”  
  
Louis snapped. “Yes!” he hissed, waving his arms about like a madman. “I do! I want to accept his courtship, and court him back, and sail off into the sunset with him, but I _can’t,_ and you don’t have to rub it in.”  
  
Zayn looked stunned. “Why can’t you?”  
  
The steam left Louis, and he collapsed back against Zayn’s desk. “It doesn’t matter.”  
  
Zayn scowled at him. “‘Course it matters, fucker. The boy is practically in love with you, and you’re saying he might have a shot but you’re not gonna let him take it? What is _wrong_ with you?”  
  
The worst part was, Louis couldn’t even get angry at Zayn. He was right. Again.   
  
“Yeah. Great question.”

Zayn’s face shut down, and he shook his head.

Louis didn’t want to hear any more, so he asked, “Can you just tell me what you found on the maps, please?”

Zayn gave him a look, but he shifted over to the desk anyway. “It’s pretty fucking cool, actually,” he mumbled, rifling through the pile of water-stained maps. “Look here.”

Louis peered over his shoulder at a map showing an island in the Pacific somewhere, maybe about three week’s journey from their current location if Louis was reading it right. He followed Zayn’s finger to a mark in the corner of the map; a small jolly roger drawn in red ink.

“This is a pirate’s map,” he breathed, leaning closer to inspect it. Now that he knew what he was looking for, he could see the difference in the craftsmanship: less of a care for exactness, wobbly lines along the border like it had been drawn on the water instead of by an academic on dry land.

“Exactly. And I don’t know about you, but I don’t know many Navy navigators that’d keep a pirate’s map in their collection. Not an ordinary one, at least.”  
  
Louis nodded, peering closer. “Where does it lead? What’s on this island?”  
  
Zayn shrugged. “Knowing pirates, I’d say treasure.”

Louis flashed a grin over at him, previous conversation forgotten at the mention of _treasure._

“Love me some treasure.”

Zayn laughed. “I can get you to that island, Captain, but I can’t guarantee I’ll find it for you.”  
  
Louis picked the map up and held it to the light streaming in from the window, then flipped it around to scan its back. “There’s gotta be some way to read this that we’re missing,” he muttered, turning the map back around then flipping it upside down.

Zayn gave him a flat look, but Louis knew him well enough to see how amused he was. “I tried all that, you think it’s my first pirate’s map?”

Louis made a face at him, then turned towards the door. “Come on, I’m calling a meeting.”

“What for?” Zayn trotted after him.

“Ideas, Zayn, keep up. This is a democracy.”

 

  

 

“What if we get it wet? Oh, wait, you already did that.”   
  
Laughter and snickering met Niall’s statement, and he bowed theatrically.

Louis rolled his eyes. “Yes, thank you Niall,” he said sweetly. “Anyone else?”

Patricks raised his hand. “Do we have to waste time on this? There might not even be any treasure to find.”  
  
Everyone booed, including Louis. Patricks flipped them all off.

“We’re pirates, what else do you suggest we spend our time on?” Ed asked, then strummed a chord on his guitar. “Singing all day?”   
  
Liam raised his hand, and Louis pointed at him excitedly, hoping for an _actual_ suggestion.

“I would quite like that, actually,” Liam said, then shared a solemn nod with Ed.

“ _This is a democracy,”_ Zayn whispered mockingly from Louis’ right.

Before Louis could call an end to the meeting and curse his crew out for being useless layabouts, someone else raised a hand from the back of the crowd.

Louis stood on his tiptoes and saw Harry pushing his way to the front, hand still raised.

“Shut up, the lot of you,” Louis called over the muttered conversations that had broken out. “Harry?”

Harry lowered his hand and stood his full height. He cleared his throat. “I just thought that maybe…” he trailed off, then looked down. Louis hated that even with his entire crew present—stinky buggers, every last one of them—he could _still_ smell Harry’s pine-and-citrus scent. “Maybe there’s something written in invisible ink? You said the jolly roger was drawn in red ink, so maybe someone wrote something in diluted blood–”

“That’s brilliant!” Zayn burst, cutting Harry off. He passed the map to Louis, then darted over to the sconce on the wall and gingerly pulled the torch out. “Hold it up,” he demanded.

Louis sent a spooked look over to Harry and found him staring back in pleased amusement.

Louis held the map up over the torch, and everyone in the room leant forwards. For a moment nothing happened, and then lines started to appear on the page. A small circle was scrawled over a part of the island, and written across the bottom of the map in atrociously bad handwriting was a single sentence: _somnium mentium opes exspectare forti nauta est ultra ut immolares hostias._

“I might not be able to read English, but I know that’s not it,” Niall joked as he peered over Louis’ shoulder, breaking the tension in the room. Zayn returned the torch to the sconce with a triumphant look on his face, and Louis’ crew broke into excited chatter.

“Great idea, Harry,” Louis breathed, eyes scanning over the words. He looked up when he smelt a shift in the omega’s scent and found Harry blushing furiously.

“Um, thank you,” he mumbled. “But we still can’t read it?”  
  
Liam made a noise and grabbed the map out of Louis’ hands gently. “I think that’s Latin,” he mused, tilting his head like that would help him translate it somehow.

“You’d be right,” Louis affirmed, clapping him over the shoulder. “Listen up, everyone! The magical map is promising shit-loads of gold if we go to that little dot,” he pointed at the circle on the map, “and make a ‘sacrifice’. Now, that sounds like a good time to me, but if anyone wants to pitch in with Patricks–”

Another wave of booing, and Louis beamed at his crew.   
  
“It’s not, like, a human sacrifice or anything?” Harry asked, looking around the room for someone else to support his hesitancy.

“If it’s a human sacrifice, we’ll send in Patricks!” Leigh Anne shouted from the back of the room.

The man turned to scowl at her, then laughed when she winked at him.

Louis stomped his foot on the floor, and everyone’s eyes turned to him. “We won’t know until we get there, but I can promise that we’re not going to murder anybody. Obviously.” He stared Harry down, and the boy cracked a smile.

“So! Who say aye?” Liam called, stepping forwards.

A rousing chorus of ‘aye’s met his question.

“And who say nay?”  
  
Silence, broken by a solitary cough.

“The aye’s have it!”

Louis grinned, leaning against Niall’s shoulder next to him. It’d been so long since they’d been on a good ol’ fashioned treasure hunt. “Then let’s go make a sacrifice.”

 

     

 

About a week into their quest, and Louis’ crew was an angry sweaty mess.

“When’s this heatwave gonna fucking break,” Jesy complained as she tested the tension of the mainstays.

Louis was inclined to agree. He’d even tied his hair back in a ratty bandana, which he _never_ did. He patted her on the shoulder and she sent him a playful glare.

He threw his hands up in surrender and backed away, her throaty laughter following him.

“Captain!”

Louis looked over to see Niall beckoning him over.

“What is it, Horan?”

Niall hooked his elbow through Louis’ and dragged him over to the hatch. “Nothing, just thought you could use some lunch.”

Louis guffawed and let himself be dragged. It was nice to see at least _someone_ was in a good mood.

The reason for his Boatswain’s good mood became apparent the instant they stepped into the galley. There were a few crewmembers milling about in between duties, talking amongst themselves over oats and dried meats, and in the middle of it all was Harry.

He was crouching to the side of one of the long tables, sweaty curls kept away from his forehead with the tie Louis had given him. He eyed the table leg in front of him critically, then tried to shake the table. It didn’t budge.

Louis sent Niall a dry look, but the beta just smiled at him innocently.

Harry looked up with a pleased grin, somehow finding Louis’ eyes in the crowded room. “I fixed the wobbly table,” he rumbled, pushing himself off the floor.

“Great job, Harry,” Louis rasped out on instinct.   
  
Harry sniffed and went to fiddle with his hair, then seemed to remember he’d tied it back. “I just, um. Had to shave off a bit of one of the legs of a chair…” he mumbled, then started looking about. “Where did it go?”  
  
There was a loud _crash,_ then a stream of angry swear words. Jacques, the grumpy old bastard, staggered to his feet, a massive stain on the front of his shirt that might once have been his stew.

“You’re really fucking thick, aren’t you?” he growled at Harry, wiping at the mess ineffectually. “This is what we get for letting an omega near a toolbox.”

Harry ducked his head, scent turning to lemongrass and gunpowder.

Louis saw red.

He had his sword aimed at Jacques’ throat before he could think better of it, and no one moved to stop him. The man gulped, meeting Louis’ fiery eyes with wide ones of his own. “I know you know better than that, _mate._ We respect each other on this crew.”

Jacques held his hands in surrender and took a step backwards. Louis only allowed it because of how much the man’s hands were shaking (and how much the rest of the crew were staring).

“As you say, Captain. My apologies,” Jacques mumbled.

He sheathed his sword and cleared his throat, then nodded. He turned away from the man, eyes searching. 

“He scarpered,” Niall supplied from Louis’ left.

Louis opened his mouth to ask how Niall had known the question he was about to ask, but Niall raised his eyebrows and pointed towards the door. Louis decided he was better off not knowing and headed up to the deck.

He couldn’t spot Harry above either. His heart was beating hard in his chest with an urgent need to check on him, make sure he was alright. But he couldn’t see him anywhere, where could he have _gone–_

Louis made himself pause and take a deep breath in. This wasn’t anything to lose his composure over, it was only an upset boy on a ship full of much of the same. Another deep breath in, and he caught Harry’s scent floating down from above.

He whirled, looking up to the crow’s nest. He couldn’t see anyone up there, but that didn’t mean anything from this angle.

So, Louis started climbing.

By the time he pulled himself over the edge of the crow’s nest, he’d managed to talk some sense into himself.

Then, Harry looked over at him with red-rimmed eyes and it all went flying out the window.

“ _Harry,”_ Louis breathed, parking himself down next to the omega and reaching with cautious hands. “Are you alright?”  
  
Harry laughed softly then sniffled. He rubbed his face for a few seconds, then dropped his hands.

“Yeah, I think so,” he said. He pursed his lips and sniffed again. “I just hate it when, like. When people don’t like me?”

Louis made a sound of soft encouragement. He pulled his hands back towards himself, but Harry was faster; he caught Louis’ left hand between his own and pulled it towards his lap. He started playing with Louis’ fingers as he talked, and Louis had to concentrate to listen with his entire body was alive from Harry’s touch.

Truly, how ridiculous.

“I know Jacques is just a grumpy kind of guy, but. I’m more used to hearing that kind of stuff then I’d like to be.”   
  
_An omega? With a toolkit? Surely you must hear how–_

Louis twitched his fingers in Harry’s hold, and the boy looked up at him. “I know what you mean,” Louis said, then panicked. “What I mean is, I hear that kind of thing said to omegas a lot,” he rushed out. “It’s hardly fair, you’re more than capable of doing everything a beta or an alpha can do.”

Harry smiled slowly, like he was blooming. “Yeah,” he mumbled. His smile dimmed somewhat, and he looked over to the horizon. “My mum said the same thing, actually. She wanted me to take over her shop one day, but then she–” Harry’s voice cracked. He cleared his throat before pushing on. “She got really sick and passed away last June. My sister moved far away for her mate, so there was no one to take the shop except me.”

Louis searched Harry’s eyes. “What happened?”   
  
Harry met his gaze. “I ran away.” His voice was cold, colder than Louis had ever heard it. His fingers were lifeless atop Louis’. “I couldn’t do it, I knew what everyone would say. I saw a poster in a tavern, and. Well. Here I am.”

Louis sat in silence for a few moments digesting this new information. Harry sat before him placidly, like he was awaiting a sentence from a magistrate.

“Harry,” Louis started, then paused. He pulled his hand from Harry’s loose hold and held it to his own chest solemnly. “As much as I would have loved to purchase a Styles original bookshelf or chair or, I don’t know, ornately carved tea caddy–” he waited for Harry’s surprised squawk of laughter to quieten, then continued, “–I am very grateful you chose a life of piracy instead.”

Harry’s eyes sparkled, and his scent made a turn towards fresh apples. “If only I weren’t such a rubbish pirate, I might believe you.”

“Rubbish? Who would dare say such a thing!” Louis cried, throwing his arms in the air just for the way is made Harry giggle.

“Me! I did!” he laughed. His tone was joking, but Louis could hear the genuine insecurity behind the words when he said, “I can’t even hold a sword, and I cry every time someone yells at me. I’m not like you."

Louis pursed his lips. “Well, there’s no one else like me, so take note of _that,_ ” he replied, and Harry snorted. “And as for the rest of it—Harry, think honestly for a moment. It’s just you and me up here, yeah? If you ignore what other people have to say, do you—do _you—_ want to learn how to wield a sword?”

Harry’s throat bobbed as he swallowed. To his credit, Louis could see the wheels turning; the boy was honestly thinking about his question.   
  
“I’m not going to think less of you, no matter what your answer is,” Louis offered softly.

Harry exhaled sharply, and he closed his eyes like he was in pain. “My answer is yes,” he said, then opened his eyes. “I want to learn.”  
  
Louis grinned. “Well, in that case.” He pushed himself to a stand then vaulted over the edge of the crow’s nest. Harry’s eyes widened in panic, but Louis was perfectly balanced on the crossbeam. “Come on,” he urged.

Harry followed him back down to the deck at a far more sedate pace. By the time his feet were on horizontal planks, Louis had already sent Niall off to find Harry a suitable training sword.

“Stand here,” Louis directed, and Harry moved eagerly. Louis circled to his back and straightened his shoulders, then kicked a foot between his feet so his stance was wider. “You need to centre yourself. You want to trip and fall on a really, really big knife? No, of course not.” He moved back to Harry’s front and eyed him over.

Harry had endured his ministrations with perfect grace—a little _too_ perfect, actually—but his cheeks heated up when Louis’ gaze traveled down his body.

Louis tsked and lifted his chin back up gently. As much as Louis enjoyed the happy little fizzing in his stomach every time Harry blushed because of him, he was _trying_ to teach him. Harry’s spiced-cider-and-cinnamon-pastry scent was distracting enough without adding anything else to the mix.

“One blunt cutlass, as requested!”

Louis jumped. He hadn’t even heard Niall approach, and the teasing glint in his grin told Louis that Niall wasn’t going to let _that_ go anytime soon.

Louis snatched the sword from his hand with a playful glare then ruffled his soft brown locks. “Thank you, Horan.”   
  
Niall ducked away from his hand and laughed. He sent an encouraging smile to Harry on his way past, and Harry nodded at him.

“Well, this is for me, obviously,” Louis said, eyeing over the cutlass.

Harry giggled and made a grab for it, but Louis stepped to the side.

“Oh? You want it?”

Harry narrowed his eyes. “Is this part of the lesson?”  
  
Louis took another step backwards and twirled the sword through the air lazily. “I don’t know, Harry. Is it?”

Harry’s muscles tensed, then he pounced. Louis ducked, then popped back up behind Harry.

Harry wheeled around and tried to laugh, but Louis could tell that he was getting angry.

Good.

“I thought you said you wanted to learn, Harry?” Louis asked innocently, running his fingers over the blade. He looked over at the panting omega and batted his eyelashes.

Harry's shoulders dropped. “I do,” he mumbled. He stared at his boots, hunched and pigeon-toed.   
  
Louis frowned. He hadn’t expected Harry to give up so easy. Perhaps he was being too cruel, he mused. Then, he grinned.

_Oh, he’s so clever,_ he thought, delighted. _I might even let him have this one, just because._

But Louis had never been one to give out pity-victories. So, he stayed his distance.   
  
“I don’t know why you thought that would work on me, Harry,” he said casually. “But it’s good to see you thinking laterally.”  
  
Harry’s facade melted away, and he parked his hands on his hips. “Well, I don’t know what you want from me, Louis,” he remarked snippily.

It sent a little thrill through Louis’ veins, seeing him riled up. Harry was usually so collected, a self-contained lake that Louis had barely begun to test the surface tension of.

“That’s a great question, Harry,” Louis praised, circling him with the cutlass strung across his shoulder. “What is it you _think_ I want?”  
  
Harry frowned, pivoting on his heel to stay facing Louis. “You want me to take the sword.”

Louis smiled at him. “Yes. And have you?”   
  
Harry rolled his eyes. “Obviously not.”  
  
Louis kept walking. “And why is that?”   
  
Harry crossed his arms. “Because you’re better than me and this isn’t fair.”

Louis hummed.

Harry’s jaw ticked. It was so _interesting,_ seeing him frustrated. One more push, and he might just walk away from this. But he’d asked to learn, so Louis was teaching.

Then Harry stopped turning with Louis, so close to giving up. Louis watched the broad expanse of his back as he walked, the tension in those perfect shoulders.   
  
This time, Harry didn’t tense up like a jungle cat before he pounced. He simply whirled around and threw himself at Louis. One instant he was walking and admiring Harry’s back, and the next he was pressed against the railing. Harry’s breath came out in pants against Louis’ cheek, and his eyes were a mossy green. Louis found himself frozen, trapped between wood and, well.

Louis had been right about Harry being _frustrated._ He was tenting his breeches, halfway to hard, and Louis could feel every inch of him pressed against his thigh.   
  
For one insane moment, all he wanted to do was whimper and bare his neck.

Harry’s fingers pulled the cutlass from Louis’, and he thunked his forehead down on Louis’ shoulder as he took some deep, calming breaths. Louis felt like a trembling, quivering mess, but he held himself together enough to whisper in Harry’s ear, “Good job.”

Harry made a choked noise, then pushed himself off Louis suddenly.

“Right, um,” he cleared his throat, then lifted the sword in his hands. “Now what do I do with it?”  
  
Louis blinked a few times. Harry looked concerned at his lack of response, so Louis rolled his shoulders and made a concerted effort to pull himself together. “You can’t do anything standing like that, get it together.”

Harry squawked a laugh and shuffled his feet apart, moving his body until he was standing like Louis had told him to.

“Perfect,” Louis praised, and steadfastly ignored the roses that blossomed in Harry’s scent. “Let’s begin.”

 

 

 

A week later, and Louis was standing in his quarters and staring at his desk. Specifically, at the object on his desk.

It had been sitting there all morning—since Louis had awoken at dawn, at least—patient and beautiful, like its maker.

Louis moved closer to it and ran his hand along its side. It was somehow exactly what he’d been picturing when he’d happened to mention it to Harry in passing: an ornately carved tea caddy.

How Harry had found the time to craft such a wonderful specimen in between his other duties and the daily sword lessons Louis was giving him, he had no idea.

Perhaps he’d enlisted the help of his crewmembers; more and more Louis had caught them whispering and conspiring, sending shifty glances Louis’ way. Sometimes Harry was with them, sometimes not.

Louis had turned a blind eye because he’d seen a remarkable improvement in the crew’s mood. The heat wave still hadn’t broken, and they were still another week from their destination, yet his crew had been downright _chipper_ as of late.

And now here Louis was, standing half-dressed in his quarters, thirty minutes late for breakfast, staring at a tea caddy, and struggling to keep a grin off his face.

There was no reason at all for him to be grinning.   
  
Just because the loveliest omega he’d ever met was determinedly courting him–  
  
Louis’ smile died.

The longer he let this go on, the more hurt Harry would be. He had to let him down, and he had to do it soon. Before another gift showed up and he forgot himself, forgot who he was and who he _wasn’t._

There was a knock at Louis’ door, and Louis whirled around with wide eyes. “Um, who is it?” he called, searching around for a shirt of some description.

“It’s Her Majesty the Queen,” Harry called back, smile evident in his voice.

Louis froze. Then, he grinned. Suddenly, it didn’t matter that he was only wearing breeches, boots, and his necklace, and that he’d just resolved to reject the omega standing on the other side of his door.

“Well, in that case: come in, Your Majesty.”  
  
Harry pushed the door open, peeking his head through first the stepping into the room. “Oh!” he squawked when he noticed Louis’ state of dress. He didn’t make any move to avert his gaze from Louis’ bare chest, which was as rude as it was flattering. “Sorry, I didn’t realise–”

Louis swooped into a bow. “Not at all, Your Majesty! It is me who should apologise for daring to present myself to you in such a way,” he simpered.

Harry giggled then schooled his features. “Yes, the absolute height of indecency! I demand you clothe yourself at once.”

Louis scrambled for his chest, pulling out a shirt with enough enthusiasm to have Harry laughing into his hand.

“What can I do for you this morning, Harry?” Louis asked once he was a few buttons in.

Harry’s laughter subsided, and he moved towards Louis. “Nothing in particular,” he mused, hands coming up to cover Louis, then take over in the job of fastening Louis’ buttons.

Louis gulped, hands hovering loosely by his sides and eyes fixed on Harry’s lowered eyelashes.

“This is… pretty,” Harry commented with obvious judgement. Louis looked down and saw Harry’s fingers caress the pendant pressed to his skin.

Louis snorted despite the lump that had wedged itself in his throat. He’d never let anyone touch it before, and he hadn’t imagined it would affect him so. It felt like Harry was stroking an open wound on his chest, and Louis had to hold himself still lest he flinch away.

“It’s hideous, actually,” Louis replied under his breath.   
  
Harry hummed—a curious little noise—but his long, nimble fingers continued on their journey up Louis’ chest, buttoning the shirt over the necklace.

“So,” Harry started, a coy lilt to his voice as he smoothed out Louis’ collar. “Did you get my present?”  
  
“You left me a present?” Louis asked, pretending to look about the room with wide eyes.

Harry snorted then poked Louis in the sternum. “Yes. It’s inside the tea caddy.”  
  
This time, Louis didn’t have to fake his shock. “Inside?” he breathed, then whirled around and made a grab for the small wooden chest. He lifted the lid and peered inside, only to find it empty bar a small piece of parchment.

He sent a look at Harry over his shoulder then pulled the paper from the caddy. He turned and leaned against his desk as he unfolded it, and Harry shuffled his feet.

_Dearest Louis,_ it said, in an elegant scrawl. _Master Harry Styles requests your presence at dinner tonight. It will be held on the main deck at sundown._

_Kind regards, Liam Payne._

Louis looked up at Harry, stunned into silence.

Harry rushed to fill the gap in conversation. “I asked Liam to write it for me so it would be neat, and Olly said he’d make us something nice, but of course you don’t have to come if you’d prefer not to–"

Louis shook his head, and Harry clamped his jaw shut. His scent was almost overpowering, citrus and pine and mint and cherries.

Louis stared down at the note for another moment trying to compartmentalise the immense sadness it provoked in him. It seemed that at some point, Harry had realised the rather large class divide between the two of them, and it made Louis want to tear his hair out.

_You don’t need to do any of this for me,_ he wanted to say. _I’m not a Lord anymore._

Instead, he swallowed and smiled. “Is there to be a dress code?”  
  
Harry tucked his hands behind his back, the beginnings of a smile on his face. The pine in his scent turned back to vanilla, and the citrus to apples. “Not in the slightest. You may wear a hessian sack, if that is what your heart desires.”

Louis smirked. “My sack is in the wash currently, I’m afraid.”  
  
“Well, that simply _won’t_ do.” Harry made to snatch the note from Louis’ hand, but Louis held it aloft. He stood on his tiptoes, holding fast as Harry lost his balance and crashed into him. He steadied himself with his hands on the edge of Louis’ desk, but he stayed pressed against Louis’ body with wide eyes and shallow breaths. “Always too fast for me,” he mumbled.

Louis lowered his arm over Harry’s shoulders, holding them together.

_Let him down,_ his mind screamed. _This is where you should tell him you could never love him, and he’ll thank you for it later._

But Louis’ body was in control, and it was much louder than his mind. So, he leaned closer and pressed his lips to Harry’s ear. “Thank you for the presents,” he whispered, and Harry shuddered against him. He could feel Harry’s soft, candle-wax cheek against his own, and his smell was so intense from here. He couldn’t help himself from nosing under Harry’s ear where the scent was strongest and just breathing him in.

This time, he didn’t doubt that Harry was alright with such an impropriety.

“You like them?” he asked, holding still as Louis breathed him in. Louis heard his voice in his ears, but he swore he could also _feel_ his voice as it vibrated through his chest and into Louis’ own.

“Mhm,” Louis hummed. He pulled back a little, having breathed his full, and Harry did the same. He had a blissful expression on his face, and it sent a dual pang of guilt and lust to Louis’ core.

Louis licked his lips before he continued, and Harry’s eyes tracked the motion. “It reminds me of the one my mother used to have. She’d keep it under lock and key at all times lest my sisters or I—or, God forbid, the servants—get any ideas about making ourselves some tea."

Harry huffed out a laugh. “She sounds like a fearsome woman.”  
  
Louis smiled. “She is.”

Harry nodded, then tapped his fingers against Louis’ hip in a hopeful rhythm. “Perhaps you could tell me more about her at dinner tonight?”

Louis puffed out his chest. “I’ve already spoken several words about her, that’s all you’re getting,” he joked, sidestepping out of Harry’s hold. “I’ve got to keep my air of mystery, you know.”

Harry laughed, hand collapsing to his sides. “Of course. How else is anyone to respect you?”  
  
Louis coughed and turned away. “Exactly,” he said as he hunted for a waistcoat and pretending Harry’s joke hadn’t hit so close to home.

Harry shifted his weight and the floorboards creaked. Louis looked back over his shoulder at him.   
  
“I’d best get back to work,” Harry said, body angled towards the door with a mournful look on his face. “But I’ll see you at dinner tonight?”  
  
 _No, you won’t see me ever again, because I’m walking the plank in two minutes to escape my own weak will,_ is what Louis didn’t reply with.

Louis smiled instead—a thin, sickly thing. “Yes. You will.”

Harry grinned and made for the door. For the next hour, all Louis could smell was roses.

 

 

Louis watched the horizon through his spyglass as the afternoon sun blared overhead. He ignored the sweat dripping down his back—as they’d all been doing, lately—and squinted at a dot in the distance.

Could it be… oh. Louis rubbed the end of the spyglass with his sleeve. The dot disappeared when Louis lifted it again.

Louis had taken to watched the horizon ever since he’d poisoned a naval captain and ran off with all his maps. Call him paranoid all you want, but Louis knew it was rarely so easy to dispatch an enemy—especially a demon from one’s past.

“Captain?”  
  
Louis turned and rested his weight against the railing. In front of him was Zayn, Leigh Anne and Niall.

“Yes?” he asked, plucking his shirt away from his chest so the slight breeze could cool his tacky skin. Truly, it was worse than his heat sweats.

Niall nudged Leigh Anne, and she cleared her throat. “We just wanted to have a quick chat about your dinner with Harry tonight.”  
  
Louis raised his eyebrows and shot a look at Zayn, who shrugged, face stony.

Leigh Anne stalked forwards, her boots clacking with purpose. “If you so much as _think_ about hurting him just know you’ll be dealing with a mutiny.” She poked him in the chest, and he winced. “He’s a sweet boy and he deserves to be treated well.”

Louis looked back at Zayn—this time with an accusatory expression.

“Captain, I told her this wasn’t necessary,” Niall said, intercepting Louis’ anger.

“And I said it _definitely_ was!” Zayn roped an arm around Niall’s waist and glared at Louis.   
  
“Alright, well,” Louis muttered, skin crawling a little under the intense scrutiny he was suddenly under. “Is that all?”

Leigh Anne tsked. “You haven’t even promised anything–”  
  
Louis pressed forwards into her space. “And I don’t intend to. Harry isn’t some shrinking violet, he’ll recover if I happen to break his heart.”

She looked shocked for a moment. “So you are breaking his heart, then?” she asked in a low voice.

Louis was taken aback. His first instinct was to say, _no, of course not, I could never,_ but. Wasn’t that his intention, after all? To stop stringing Harry along, for both of their sakes?

It was Niall that came to his rescue. “He’s not going to, Leigh Anne."  
  
She crossed her arms and stared him down. Niall stepped out of Zayn’s hold and met her gaze.

“Trust me.”

Louis looked between them, captivated by the strange tension. Then, Leigh Anne’s expression broke.   
  
“Well, good,” she smiled. She patted Louis’ cheek fondly then turned to link arms with Zayn and Niall. As they trotted off together, Louis heard her say, “That went better than the one we did with Harry, don’t you think?”

Louis grimaced and wiped more sweat from his brow. _He’s not going to,_ Niall had said. _Trust me,_ he’d said. Louis wished for even half of his assuredness.

 

 

 

_Knock, knock._

Louis gulped, standing to attention. He fiddled with the ruffles of his shirt, tugged his waistcoat down a little, patted his hair.

_Knock, knock… knock._

Louis smiled at the door. It had been so long since he’d felt this—the butterflies, the way his skin seemed alive with anticipation. It was wonderful and terrifying; he wished it would stop and he wished it would go on forever.

He pulled the door to his quarters open before Harry could knock again, then froze.

Harry was wearing a brilliant red silk shirt, collar open and neck exposed. His breeches were tight-fitting and soft, his boots were shined, and his hair was tied back with a golden scarf. He looked wicked; fierce. And then. Then, he smiled. A huge, dimpled grin.

Louis gulped. Perhaps he should have sunk himself to the bottom of the ocean when he had a chance.

“Good evening, Captain,” Harry drawled.

Louis couldn’t rip his eyes from his throat, smooth and a little flushed from the heat. “Um,” he choked, then coughed. “Good evening.”

Harry’s smile widened—how was _that_ possible—and he offered Louis his hand. “Are you ready for dinner?”

_No, and I couldn’t ever be._ Louis smiled and rested his hand in Harry’s, letting him wrap his fingers around his own and tug him out of the doorway.

Harry moved to stand beside him, and Louis took in the deck for the first time since he’d locked himself in his room a few hours ago to panic in peace.

It was… practically empty. The entire crew had been cleared out—though Louis saw a couple curious faces peeking out from the hatch—except for Ed, who waved at Louis then started playing a slow song in his lute. Harry had pulled one of the smaller dining tables from the galley all the way up here and he’d decorated it with a lovely piece of patterned cloth and a single candle.

“I didn’t know we had candles,” Louis said. He was trying for a conversational tone, but he was sure he missed the mark.

Harry laughed next to him. “It’s Zayn’s, he let me borrow it.”

Louis nodded, heart still in his throat. “He must really like you.” He looked over at Harry, who was staring at him with a sparkle in his eyes.   
  
“Shall we?” Harry tugged on his hand and Louis stumbled after him towards the table.

Harry extracted his fingers from Louis’ once they reached the table. He sat down at the same time Louis did, and for a moment all they did was stare at each other mutely.

Then Ed plucked a wrong note and the awkwardness was broken. Louis laughed, and Harry laughed, and Ed started playing something happy with a pleased grin on his face.

“So, Harold,” Louis leaned forward in his chair, and Harry eagerly copied the movement. “What’s for dinner?”  
  
“Well—and I know this sounds far fetched, but stay with me here—” Harry started, then looked to both sides of the ship way in fake suspicion. “It’s stew.”

“Stew? On a pirate ship?” Louis gasped. “How’d you manage that?”  
  
Harry batted his eyelashes. “The chef likes me.”  
  
“I bet he does,” Louis mumbled grumpily.

Harry looked confused.   
  
Louis sighed. “I was accosted earlier this evening and informed that there’d be a mutiny if I _dared_ slight you,” he explained. “You’ve got my entire crew wrapped around your little finger.”  
  
Harry’s face fell. “Oh. Well, I can talk to them, if you want.” His scent was so loud suddenly, overpowering wafts of pine and citrus and soot and ash. It burned Louis’ lungs. “You don’t have to be here if you don’t want to be.”  
  
Louis reached across the table urgently, grabbing Harry’s face in his hands.

Anything—fucking _anything—_ to get Harry’s lovely vanilla back.

“Harry, look at me. Hey,” he searched Harry’s eyes, and pressed his thumb into his pouted lips until they stretched back into a smile. “There’s not much that can make me do something I don’t want to, and my crew knows that. I’m here because I want to be.”

“Okay,” Harry said. Except it sounded more like, “mrrkay,” with the way his face was smushed between Louis’ hands.   
  
“Good.” Louis released him. “Now, I believe I was promised stew?”

Harry grinned, cheeks pink, and whistled. Olly darted out from the hatch with two bowls of stew. He ran over, placed them on the table carefully, then sprinted away.

Louis watched him go with a bemused expression. When he looked back at Harry, it was to find him staring with a soft smile. The vanilla was back, and so was the jasmine and roses and the entire fucking garden. Louis smiled back and picked up his spoon.

The rest of dinner went smoothly. The candle burned down a few inches, Harry and Louis shared stories about their lives before piracy—in Louis’ case, very edited stories—and Ed played a soundtrack of love songs.

By the time their bowls were empty, Louis was relaxed and happy. Harry was just wrapping up a rather amusing story about the time he broke his toe when the first raindrop fell.

It landed on Louis arm, the one that was resting on the table as he listened to Harry’s meandering storytelling. Louis frowned down at it and wiped it off, then looked up. Stormclouds had rolled in out of nowhere, angry and grey. Another drop landed, this time on Louis’ forehead.

“Shit,” Louis cursed. Harry opened his mouth, presumably to ask what the problem was, then the sky broke open.

Torrential rain started pounding against the wooden planks of the deck, and Ed yelped, using his body to protect his lute from the water. The candle was quickly snuffed out, and Harry’s hair was already on the way to drenched.

“So, where were we?” he yelled over the noise of the storm. “I think it’s your turn to share.”  
  
Louis stared at him through the rain for a moment then burst into laughter. Harry followed an instant later, and they were still laughing as Ed ran to the hatch to escape the onslaught.

“Come on,” Louis forced out between giggles. “You’ll catch your death out here.” He stood and offered his hand to Harry, who accepted it. He grabbed the candle then allowed himself to be led away from the table.

Hand in hand, they ran towards Louis’ quarters. The second the door was shut against the rain, the noise died down to a low murmur.   
  
“Well, that was a dramatic end to the evening,” Louis mused, laughter dying down.

“What do you mean ‘end’?” Harry complained, holding the drenched candle up between them. “We can keep it going.”  
  
Louis plucked the candle from his hand and stalked towards his desk. “Not without the candle we can’t.” He shoved it into a drawer, then took a second to straighten the papers on his desk. He turned as he spoke.  “We’re both soaked to the bone, I think it best if we just–”

Harry kissed him.

Louis’ words died in his throat. For a moment he just stood there, stiff as a plank, while Harry pressed his lips to his so softly, so sweetly.   
  
“Louis?” Harry mumbled against his lips. Louis opened his eyes to find Harry staring at him pleadingly (which was a remarkable feat to accomplish for someone with one big, weirdly shaped eye). “Do–”

Louis didn’t wait for the rest of Harry’s question. He surged forwards, hands clutching desperately at Harry’s throat. He channeled all of his frustration, his hatred and his love and his confliction and his resolve, into the kiss. It was bruising and burning. Harry whined, pressing closer to him. His hands fastened themselves to Louis’ waist, and he lifted Louis up onto the desk behind him. Louis moaned at the change of angle: now he was the taller one. He opened his legs for Harry to push between, bodies flush against each other as their mouths moved in tandem.

For several long minutes Louis stopped thinking, mind a fog of lust. Then, a smell broke through that fog: rose oil, sweet and sticky.   
  
For a moment, Louis thought it was the smell of his own slick that he could feel leaking out of his, wetting his undergarments. Then, he remembered his necklace. Harry thrust his hips into Louis’ and the smell got sharper, harder to ignore. Louis pulled back.

Harry tried to follow, but Louis planted his hands against his chest and held him still. Harry’s eyes fluttered open, a look of adorable confusion taking over his face.

“Did I do something wrong?” he asked, taking in Louis’ tense body.

_No, Harry, I just have to stop before I shove my face in your–_

Louis cleared his throat. “No, H, you’re perfect,” he rasped out. Harry whined and tried to kiss him again, but Louis turned his cheek to it.

“Then what’s wrong,” Harry mumbled, nuzzling into Louis’ scruff.

Louis sighed. “I can’t do this.”  
  
Harry stilled. He pulled back, a deep groove between his brows. “Which part?”

_All of it._

“Just this part.”

Harry’s frown melted into a happy smile. All Louis wanted to do was get him naked and bury his face wherever his scent was strongest, but he held himself back.

“Okay,” Harry said. He ran his hands down Louis body then rested his hands on Louis’ thighs. “We can stop.”

Louis sighed and leaned forwards. He pressed his nose into Harry’s neck, nuzzling for a moment before simply breathing him in. It calmed his heart rate and soothed his worried thoughts.

“Can you scentmark me?” Harry mumbled, hands spasming against Louis’ thighs. “I want everyone to know I’m yours.”

“Mine, are you?” Louis mumbled into Harry’s skin. He was practically half-asleep, drugged up on Harry’s scent.

“Yes.”  
  
Louis pressed a kiss to Harry’s throat then pulled back. Harry would smell like him for a few days from just that, but he couldn’t scentmark him. No matter how much he wanted to. The idea of Harry walking around smelling like him made his head swim—his heart ached with how much he wanted it—but. If Louis marked him now, he wouldn’t smell like _him_. He’d smell like the necklace, like an alpha.

“Maybe next time, Harry,” he mumbled, then closed his eyes as sadness rushed through him.

“Oh,” Harry said. “Okay.”

He made to pull away, but Louis trapped him hooking his ankles behind his back. “I said next time, Harry, not never,” he teased, opening his eyes.

Harry blushed and looked away. “I heard you.”

“Besides,” Louis tapped a finger against Harry’s cheek until his dimple showed up. “Isn’t it my turn to ask you on a date? We did this kind of backwards.”  
  
Harry shook his head. “I don’t mind, and I don’t think you do either. That’s why I like you; you don’t care about tradition.”

Louis gulped. “Yeah, tradition is the worst,” he forced out, voice shaky.

Harry grinned at him. “I agree.”

Louis felt something blooming in his chest, something he recognised. It was something dangerous and beautiful that he hadn’t felt since he was just a boy, staring out his window at the sea.

_Hope_.

 

 

The rain continued for the rest of the night, loud and angry. Louis sent Harry off to his hammock at the first break in the downpour, then stared out of his door as the omega ran across the deck and dove down the hatch. His head popped back up for a moment to stare at Louis and grin, and then he was gone.

The next day, Louis was pulling on his nicest silk shirt when Zayn barged in.

“Well, good morning,” Louis laughed. Zayn waved him off, then gathered himself.

“How did it go?” he asked, pretending to be casual as he leaned against Louis’ desk and inspected his nails.

Louis maintained his poker face for five seconds. Then, a grin overtook his features. “It was wonderful,” he sighed.   
  
Zayn eyed him sharply. “What happened to letting him down? Pushing him away? Wasn’t that the plan?”

Louis buttoned up his waistcoat then tied the golden scarf he’d found on his floor this morning around his waist. “That plan is cancelled,” he decided, parking his hands in his hips. “The new plan is to make him fall so wildly in love with me that he won’t even care that– well, I mean– that he won’t care about the reason I didn’t want him to court me,” Louis stuttered.

Zayn narrowed his eyes. “And what is that reason again?”  
  
“That I’ve got really stinky feet. Fuck off, Zayn, its none of your business.” Louis pulled on his boots (the nice Italian ones).

Zayn rolled his eyes. “Well, I can tell you right now that there’s not much you could tell that boy to make him give up on you. He thinks the fucking sun shines out of your arsehole.”

Louis preened. “Really?”

Zayn reached behind him, grabbed Louis’ letter opener, and pegged it at him.

Louis ducked out of the way easily, laughing.

His letter opener dug itself into the wood on the far wall.

“You’re the worst captain I’ve ever had,” Zayn informed him.

“I’m sure that’s true,” Louis said, even though he knew it wasn’t. “Come on, then. How far off from the island are we?”

Zayn’s entire mood shifted. “We’re ahead of schedule, Captain. That storm last night propelled us in the exact direction we needed. Come look,” he enthused, grabbing Louis’ hand and dragging him onto the deck.

He pointed at a speck on the horizon, and Louis pulled out his spyglass. He shifted the focus, and the speck became clear. It was an island.

“You’re sure that’s the right one?” Louis asked, excitement leaking into his voice.

Zayn faltered. “Well, no,” he hedged, scratching at his scruff. “But–”

“Come off it, Captain; of course it’s the right one!” Niall appeared behind Zayn’s shoulder, pulling him into a hug. “Never doubt your Navigator, he’s a genius.”

Zayn sent Niall a fond look.

“Can’t argue with that, Horan,” Louis smiled. “So how far off are we?”  
  
Zayn hummed. “Two days if the wind keeps up, maybe one.”

“You hear that, lads?” Louis yelled, turning to face the dozen or so crewmembers that were milling about on the deck. “Two days until treasure!”

A cheer erupted, loud hollering and whoops. Louis laughed, giddy.

Then Liam cleared his throat, and Louis whirled to face him.

“Not to ruin the fun or anything,” Liam said with a frown. “But shouldn’t we be worried about _that?”_

He pointed behind himself, the opposite direction to the island. Louis couldn’t see the horizon—blocked by the half-deck and the stern—but his stomach fell. Somehow, he knew what he would find on it.

He darted up the stairs to the half-deck and pulled out his spyglass again. The dot on the horizon wasn’t a speck of dust this time, and it certainly wasn’t another island. It was a naval galleon.

Zayn and Niall looked over his left shoulder and Liam his right.

“She’ll never catch up to us in time,” Niall reassured, patting Louis’s back. “They’re leagues off, and we’re a lot fucking faster.”

Louis scoffed. “I’m not worried about being overtaken, I’m worried that he’s still after us.”  
  
Liam frowned in confusion. “He?”

_Fuck._

Louis cleared his throat and sheathed his spyglass. “Yes, well. I might know the captain of that vessel, is all.”

“That’s _all?”_ Niall waved at the horizon vaguely. “Captain, you didn’t think to mention that three weeks ago?”  
  
“I didn’t think it would be relevant!” Louis replied, matching his volume. “Besides, I poisoned him–”

“Sorry, what?” Zayn stepped away, and Niall went with him. “You poisoned him?”

Louis lifted his chin and set his jaw. “Yes.”

“Well, alright then. Clearly, it didn’t work, so let’s not get fussy,” Liam soothed, standing between Louis and Zayn. 

“Even if it _had_ worked, that’s hardly the worst thing you’ve seen me do,” Louis said, still addressing Zayn. “What’s your problem? The captain of that ship is a foul, dishonourable man–”

“Even dishonourable men deserve honourable deaths,” Zayn interrupted. “All the things I’ve seen you do have been in _combat;_ face to face. Poisoning someone is the height of cowardice.”

Niall laughed uncomfortably. “Zayn, love. We’re pirates.”

“None of you would understand,” he growled.

“Oh, wouldn’t we?” Louis stalked forwards. Zayn had been his closest confidant for years. Though this was hardly the first time they’d fought, it definitely cut the deepest. His hackles were raised and his blood was boiling; Zayn had no idea how close to the bone he was cutting. “Tell me, _Malik,_ do you think yourself a better man than I?”

Zayn faltered for a moment, then his scent shifted. Louis was hardly ever aware of the way anyone except Harry smelled, but he noticed it then. Zayn smelt like blood, like metal, like steam, angry and sharp. “You ask that question like you weren’t planning on breaking Harry’s heart for _no reason_ just yesterday.”  
  
Louis stilled, cheeks burning like he’d been slapped. Liam and Niall stared at Zayn like they hadn’t seen him before. His words echoed across the deck, louder than the rest of the heated conversation had been.

Louis looked over Zayn’s shoulder, already knowing what he could see from the burning pinewood he could smell from across the deck. Harry was kneeling on the port side halfway down the ship, hands frozen where they’d been sanding down one of the splintered joints of the railing. He was staring right at Louis with a blank expression.

“Louis, I’m sorry,” Zayn whispered. His scent had died back down—Louis could no longer smell him, too focused on Harry. “That was too far, I didn’t–”

“Fuck you,” Louis spat at him. The second his gaze left Harry, the boy stood and walked over to the hatch. He’d disappeared before Louis even made it halfway down the stairs.

“I wouldn’t do that if I was you, Captain,” Leigh Anne warned, stepping between Louis and the hatch. “Leave him be.”  
  
Louis grit his teeth. “I need to talk to him, Leigh Anne.”  
  
Ed lay a hand on his shoulder. “She’s right, Captain. Leave him be.”  
  
Louis glared at him, then he took in the rest of his crew that were spread across the deck. None of then looked unsympathetic—they certainly weren’t about the start a mutiny, despite what he’d been warned—but their faces were unflinching.

Louis wasn’t going to get past them without a fight, and every last one of them knew he could never do that.

His shoulders sagged and he let out a ragged breath. “Alright.”

Ed squeezed his shoulder, and Louis squeezed his eyes closed. This time when the sadness threatened to overwhelm him, he couldn’t bury his face in Harry’s neck until it went away.

But what he _could_ do, was lead.

“Back to work, the lot of you,” he yelled, and his crew jumped to obey. “We’ve got a race on our hands and I don’t want to see us lose it to a bunch of scurvy Queen-fuckers. You three,” he turned and pointed at his Navigator, Quartermaster, and Boatswain, all staring at him with kicked puppy expressions from the half-deck. “My quarters, now.”

He stalked into his room and pulled off his waistcoat. He faltered before he undid the knot holding Harry’s scarf around his waist. He closed his eyes for a moment, then tugged the scarf off. He’d just finished retying it around his head—keeping his hair from his face and Harry’s scent close—by the time Niall, Zayn, and Liam entered his quarters.

Zayn opened his mouth first, likely to apologize, but Louis cut him off. “I don’t wanna hear it. We’ve got plans to make and an entire galleon of naval officers up our arses; shelve the bullshit until another day, alright?”

Zayn closed his mouth and nodded.

Louis clapped his hands together. “Good. Now. Who’s got any ideas?”

 

  
  


The sun was just beginning to set, and Louis was sitting at his desk. He’d been trying to write a letter—he imagined his mother would love to hear of his recent exploits, and he always tried to keep her in the loop—but his quill produced no words. Instead, he found himself staring out of the window at the stripes of orange and red that painted the sky.   
  
He’d conferred with Niall, Liam, and Zayn all day, talking around in circles before they reached something resembling a strategy.   
  
He hadn’t tried to find Harry again. He wasn’t sure if it was cowardice or the warning of his crew that had kept him from doing so, but he feared it was the former.

The necklace around his neck felt heavier than it ever had, but he didn’t dare take it off.

Not tonight.

 

 

 

“That’s ten leagues, I’d say,” Niall muttered, squinting at the galleon in the distance.

Louis nodded in agreement, then turned to face his crew. They were still gathering themselves, stragglers crawling in, but they snapped to attention when they saw Louis staring at them expectantly.

“Right,” Louis called. “We’ll be close enough to the island to send a rowboat out in an hour or so, and I need a volunteer. Who amongst you is the best rower and swordsman?”

He couldn’t ask any of his inner circle to accompany him, since they’d be busy leading the naval ship on a wild goose chase. The plan was to send Louis and a crewmember out to the island with some supplies, then circle back for them the next day. A frigate was a much nimbler vessel than a galleon, and with any luck they’d catch her on the reef, trap her long enough to sail away with their riches.

It was shaky at best, but the simplest plans always had more chance of success—especially with so many variables involved.

His crew looked amongst themselves for a moment, like all of them were having a secret conversation with their eyes.

Then, Olly piped up. “I think Harry’s the best at fighting and rowing!”

Louis’ eyebrows met his hairline.

“Yeah, definitely!” Perrie called. There was a few grunts and some shuffling from the middle of the pack, and then Harry was thrust forwards. He stumbled on his feet then steadied himself. He didn’t look at Louis, instead crossing his arms and glaring over his shoulder at his crewmates. His hair was loose today, flowing in the wind, and he still smelled like vanilla. Just… vanilla that had been left in the sun for too long and had shriveled up a little.

“Any other volunteers?” Louis asked through gritted teeth.   
  
The only answer Louis got was eighteen shit-eating grins.

“Come on, for the love of–” Louis cursed, gearing up for what was sure to be a truly impressive rant.

“I’ll do it.”

Louis stilled. He looked at Harry, and Harry lifted his head to meet his gaze. His face was expressionless, but his scent was at least a little stronger.

“Excellent!” Ed called. “So that’s decided. Anything else, Captain?”

Louis pinched his nose and shut his eyes. “No, thank you. Back to work, everyone.”

Louis didn’t open his eyes again until he heard the last person trot away. When he did, it was to find Harry staring at him evenly.   
  
Louis struggled to find something to say to him; he’d gone and buried his emotions already, and now was _not_ the time to start digging them back up.

“I’ll get a rowboat ready,” is what he settled on.

He spent the next hour going over the plan with Liam and packing everything he and Harry would need to survive on the island for a night (plus an extra seven nights after that, should anything go wrong).

 

   

 

“Why am I the one rowing again?” Harry panted.

Louis lowered his spyglass. It was the most amount of words Harry had said to him since they’d been lowered off _The Black Dagger._  
  
“I’m… overseeing,” Louis answered cagily, going back to watching his precious ship sail away from him. The moment he’d been waiting for happened; the galleon in the distance changed course oh-so-subtly to stay in pursuit of Louis’ ship.

Good.

Harry mumbled something to himself. It sounded distinctly grumpy.

Louis chose to ignore it.   
  
“We’ve not much farther now,” he said, looking over his shoulder to the island behind him. Now that he was closer, he could see how sparsely populated it was: a few sad trees, and the rest… sand. “The waves will propel us towards shore. You could probably stop rowing.”  
  
Harry pulled the oars up. He opened his mouth to say something, but whatever it was was drowned out by a massive wave crashing against the stern of the rowboat. Harry was flung forwards from the force of it, and he tumbled right into Louis. Louis grabbed him on instinct, steadying him as the boat shook beneath them from yet another wave.   
  
“Thanks,” Harry mumbled, knuckles going white from his grip on Louis’ seat. He didn’t make any move to pull away. Yet another wave crashed against the boat, turning them around and almost flipping them.

“Time to get out and swim, I think,” Louis said, struggling to project his voice over the sounds of the waves.

Harry send him a wide-eyed look, but followed Louis lead. Together they dove into the sea on either side of the boat, holding on to it as they kicked their way towards shore. Soon enough, Harry was able to get his feet under him and push—then Louis, a moment later. They dragged the rowboat along with all their supplies (safe from the waves under a water-resistant canvas) onto the shore, up the beach until the waves no longer lapped at their feet.

Harry collapsed into the sand, chest heaving. “That was awful.”  
  
Louis plucked the dripping wet shirt from his chest, made a face, then pulled it over his head. He wrung it out into the sand. “No shit.”  
  
Harry snorted, then a laugh burst out of him. Louis looked over at him in bemusement as Harry sat up, laughter still pouring out of him. “I really hate rowing!”

Louis lay his wet shirt over a seat on the boat for the sun to dry, then pulled off his wet boots next. He wasn’t likely to need shoes on an island like this one, and the sand felt like heaven between his toes. He pulled his breeches off a moment later, then pulled on a dry pair before Harry could notice.

“You didn’t have to come, you know,” Louis said. He pulled a spare shirt from the bag of supplies and pulled it over his shoulders, then tied his hair in a low, short ponytail.

Harry’s laughter subsided, eyes caught on Louis’ chest as he buttoned up his shirt. “I know,” he said distantly.

Louis frowned down at him. “You might want to dry yourself off a little before we go searching. You’ll chafe like that.”

Harry stood without a word and started stripping.   
  
“Jesus,” Louis cursed, turning away from the sight as he refastened his cutlass around his waist.

“I’m so _sorry_ for the indecency, Your Majesty,” Harry teased, a dark edge to his voice.

Louis sent his gaze skyward. “Harry–”

“Why would Zayn say that, Louis?” Harry spat, like a dam bursting open. “That’s what I’ve been asking myself for the last day. Why would he say you were planning to break my heart?”

Louis spun around. Harry was fully clothed again, but his expression was naked. Confusion and hurt was all Louis could see and smell.

“If you’d just told me you weren’t interested in mating me, I would have understood!” Harry burst, fisting a hand in his hair. “Now I feel like an absolute _idiot_ for reading into things–”

Louis took a step away from the boat and from Harry. “You didn’t read into anything, Harry,” he interrupted. He turned and started marching towards the centre of the island. “Not everything is about you, you know?”

He heard Harry scramble to follow him, smelling of sharp pine needles and cherry wine.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Louis sped up, ducking under a tree branch. It was hard to walk quickly in the soft sand, and he heard Harry struggle with it from behind him. “It doesn’t matter what it means.”

Louis heard Harry pause for a moment. “Why wouldn’t it matter?”

All the bloody _questions_ were driving Louis insane. He was so close to actual _treasure,_ and his beloved ship was one wrong move away from being boarded by the fucking Navy, and he didn’t have space for all the fucking feelings Harry was asking him to share.

“It doesn’t matter because we could never be together!” he yelled, whirling to face the confused omega. “I deluded myself into thinking we could, but–” _now I’ve gone and hurt you, and I can’t ask you to forgive me, and_ also _to love me as I am_ “–I was wrong, and I’m sorry. Now, if you’ll excuse me, finding this treasure is just about the only thing that will keep me from falling apart right now, so if you don’t fucking _mind,_ I’d like to get back to it.”

Harry weathered Louis’ harsh words far better than he had waves crashing against him. Always so brave, that one. A tear leaked out of Louis’ eye, and he wiped it away angrily.

Harry’s face just sort of… broke, then. “Louis,” he whispered, voice like plum pudding and scent twice as sweet. “I don’t understand.”

Louis sniffed and blinked at the horizon. The galleon was farther away, and his ship was even farther still. “Please, Harry. Just… drop it.”

Harry looked like he was going to argue, but then nodded. “Aye aye, cap’n,” he mumbled.

Louis laughed wetly. Then, his laugh died in his throat. “Fuck,” he breathed, brushing past Harry to get an uninterrupted look at the sea.

_Where was it_ —there! A little brown dot, growing closer with each passing moment.

A rowboat.

“ _Fuck.”_

Harry followed his gaze and his eyes widened. “Is that–”

“Come on,” Louis interrupted, grabbing Harry’s hand and sprinting away from the shore. There was nothing to be done about their rowboat, sitting innocently on the beach like a blinking beacon and filled with all their supplies—and there was definitely nothing to be done about the very obvious tracks they were leaving in the sand. Their only hope was to find the treasure before the boys in blue arrived, and then. Well. Louis would think of something.

“What are we even looking for?” Harry panted out at they darted through the sand.

Louis tugged on his hand, pulling Harry to the left and out of the way of an exposed tree root. “I don’t know, something shiny?” 

Harry laughed. It was a bright sound, and Louis’ aching heart skipped a beat in his chest.

“So, like,” Harry said, then paused to breathe and point shakily at something. “ _Not_ something like that?”

Louis frowned in the direction Harry was pointing. There was a strange grey shape through an odd thicket of trees. It looked like a stone structure of some kind; a pillar erupting from the earth, and an altar in front.

Louis took off towards it, and Harry sprinted next to him. They burst through the treeline and into a small clearing—seemingly the only place on the island where grass was spurting. The stone altar had a small dip in the middle and strange symbols etched all around the front. It wasn’t Latin like the map had been. In fact, Louis had no idea what it said—only that it was very old, and very cursed.

“Shit,” Harry breathed. “Do you feel that?”

Louis nodded mutely. There was a frisson in the air; his arm hairs stood on end. Whatever magic had been cast on the stone was powerful enough that he could practically taste it.

Harry took a step towards it, and Louis tugged him back using their still-joined hands. “Harry, I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”

Harry frowned and pulled his hand from Louis’. “I thought this treasure was ‘the only thing from keeping you from falling apart.’”

Louis glared at him. “It’s not cute when you use my words against me.”

Harry turned back to the stone. He placed a hand on the altar, then jumped back as if he’d been burned. A mouth appeared in the middle of the pillar, two grey lips jutting out from the stone. The lips opened, words forming.

“Make a sacrifice. Receive your riches.”

The stone’s voice was low, cold. The commands it spoke were doubly so.

“What kind of sacrifice?” Louis asked, moving to stand next to Harry at the altar. “What does it have to be?”

“Something important,” the pillar replied.

Louis grit his teeth. “How important?”

“Make a sacrifice. Receive your riches,” said the stone.

Louis growled.

“Well,” Harry said. “At least it doesn’t have to be a human sacrifice.”

Louis took a deep, calming breath. If Harry’s vanilla-cherry-citrus scent hadn’t been right next to him, it would _not_ have worked.

“I didn’t bring anything much,” Harry mused, patting himself down. Louis eyed him over. He seemed so committed to this, to ‘receiving his riches’. Louis knew it couldn’t have been because he wanted them for himself. “Maybe this?” Harry said, pulling off his ring—the silver one, the one his mother had given him when he was just a boy. Harry had explained all of his rings to Louis on their first (and only) date. Harry reached towards the altar, hand poised to drop the ring into the dip in the centre.

Louis darted forwards, grasping onto Harry’s wrist and stilling him. Harry looked at Louis in surprise.   
  
“Don’t give that up, Harry,” Louis whispered, pulling Harry’s hand away from the altar. “It’s not worth it.”

Harry’s face set in determination. “If you need it, then it is.”

“I don’t need it, Harry! And even if I did, you shouldn’t give anything up for me,” he pleaded.

Harry tugged his hand from Louis’ hold angrily. “Will you let me do something for you? You might not care about me, but I care about _you,_ and–”

“What? Harry, of course I care about you!” Louis burst out, getting up in his face. “That’s what this whole fucking _mess_ is about; me caring about you when I shouldn’t.”

“Make a sacrifice. Receive your riches,” contributed the pillar.

“Butt out, will you,” Louis hissed at it.

“If you care about me,” Harry said, slowly and precisely, “then what is your problem?”

“Make a sacrifice. Receive your riches.”  
  
“Why can’t you be with me, Louis? Just tell me, I think I deserve to know.”

“Make a sacrifice. Receive your riches.”  
  
“Is there someone else?”

Louis huddled back against the altar, pinned between Harry’s smoky scent and his stormy eyes. “What? No, of course not–”

“Then what is it? Why would you push me away–”  
  
“Make a sacrifice–”

“For fucks sake!” Louis shouted. He reached into his shirt and ripped the necklace off his neck, twisting his body to shove it into the annoying pillar’s stupid mouth.

A set of stone teeth closed over the pendant, and the mouth swallowed. It disappeared, and so did the necklace.

Louis squeezed his eyes shut. He could smell himself—blossoms in spring, sweet caramel, soft leather—for the first time in so long. And he could smell Harry, the way they fit together. It was the loveliest scent he’d ever experienced.

Of course it was.

“Louis,” Harry breathed.

Louis turned to face him. “This is,” he choked, then cleared his throat. “This is why.”

Harry’s expression was intense, and Louis couldn’t tell if he was about to start crying or start running, or worse. He braced himself for the inevitable.

But then, Harry lifted one of his too-big-hands, and he placed it gently on Louis’ neck, and he pulled him closer, and he shoved his nose under Louis’ ear. For a moment all he did was breathe, and all Louis did was quiver like a leaf in the wind.

“I can’t believe I was right,” Harry whispered, touches of giddiness leaking into his voice. His scent was so sweet it almost hurt to breathe him in.

“What?” Louis blinked. He tried to pull away, but Harry made a soft noise of protest and held him fast. He rubbed his face in Louis’ neck, and Louis fucking _melted._

“Make a sacrifice. Receive your riches,” said the pillar. Louis froze, and so did Harry. He pulled away to stare at it in confusion.

“I just _did,_ you dumb rock,” Louis growled.

“Something important,” repeated the mouth.

Louis opened his mouth to deliver a scathing reply when a twig snapped behind them. Louis and Harry whirled around.

All Louis saw was trees. Then, a flash of blue, a glint of metal. He counted six officers circling them. They were trapped in the clearing.

Another twig snapped, and an alpha appeared. His face was familiar—older, no doubt, but familiar just the same. His epaulettes pronounced him Captain, and the expression on his face pronounced him _pissed the fuck off._

When he saw Louis, he grinned. “Louis Tomlinson,” he drawled, hand closed around the hilt of his sword. “I thought I recognised your stink.”  
  
Louis set his shoulders, shifting subtly so he was between Harry and the Duke. “I wish I could say the same,” he said flippantly. “Who are you, again? Cousin Bobby?”   
  
The Duke’s nose wrinkled in disgust. “It is I! Duke Alfred Awlrick of Westbridge, Captain of Her Majesty’s _Cavaleir._ ”

Louis tapped his finger against his chin. “Are you sure? You look an _awful_ lot like Cousin Bobby.”

From behind him, Harry snorted softly. Louis could smell hints of apprehension in his scent, but mostly he just smelt… Happy. Content. Even in the face of imminent danger.   
  
Louis really, _really_ wanted to explore that further. It was honestly so rude of Duke Whatshisface to interrupt him like this, right when he was about to not get rejected for the first time in his life.

“I’m not fucking–” the alpha hissed, then cut himself off. “You always were such a bratty little shit.”

Harry growled from behind him, but Louis put a hand out to stop him from doing anything stupid.

“A bratty little shit that _poisoned_ you. How was your port, by the way?” Louis’ eyes scanned his surroundings. He only had a few more minutes of lip left before the Duke would snap and order his men to attack, and he needed a strategy for when they did.

“Tunis’ harbour sends its regards. How stupid do you think I am?” the Duke sneered. “I could smell an intruder all over my things.” 

_Oh, well,_ Louis thought, calculating how unsteady Officer #3 seemed on his feet—or, what little Louis could see through the trees. _You win some, you lose some._

“It was _far_ too easy to figure out exactly which of my navigator’s maps you’d choose to follow. You pirates are all so predictable,” he continued. “Although… I didn’t expect this to be a reunion. And you’ve brought such a lovely gift for me, too,” the Duke purred, gaze shifting to Harry over Louis’ shoulder. “I think I’ll keep him.”

“Fuck you,” Harry spat.

“Yeah, what he said,” Louis added. Officer #1 looked the most experienced of the lot—he was the only one Louis’ couldn’t see through the trees. He only knew he was there from his shadow.

The Duke sighed. “This is getting boring, now. Attack!”

Louis ripped his cutlass from its sheath and thrust it in to Harry’s hands. A moment later, Officer #1 was there, sword coming down in a deadly arch aimed at Louis’ neck. Harry lifted the sword to block his blow, and Louis darted away.

He was grateful he’d left his boots in the rowboat as he swerved away from Officer #2’s lazy lunges. It made him more agile in the sand, harder to catch. Officer #3 was as easy to dispatch as he’d predicted—a punch to the solar plexus sent him reeling, and shoving his head into the tree next to him knocked him clean out. Louis wasted no time pulling the beta’s sword from his waist, and whirled around in time to stab another one in the shoulder. He ignored the spray of blood and the officer’s crumbling body—though he did snatch the man’s sword at he fell. Eyes searching through the fray, he spotted Harry.

He’d jumped atop the altar, using the height advance to hold his own.   
  
Fuck, Louis loved him so much.

Officers number four and five turned away from Harry and made for Louis, but Louis had two swords and his Omega Advantage. He feinted right, and Officer #4 fell for it. He got a sword through the thigh for his troubles. Officer #5 was smarter; she dropped her weapon and held her hands up in surrender the instant the tip of Louis’ sword neared her throat.

“Kneel,” he commanded, and the alpha dropped to her knees. In the space where she stood, Louis saw Harry deliver a forceful kick to the last remaining officer’s face, sending the man plummeting to the ground and clutching what used to be his nose. All six Officers were now on the ground, incapacitated but still breathing.

Harry’s eyes met Louis’, and his shoulders tensed at the sight of him standing there, covered in blood. He hopped off the altar, and Louis rushed towards him.

He was stopped when the Duke appeared behind him, arm catching him across the middle and sword aimed at Louis’ throat. Louis stilled, ignoring his natural instinct to tilt his head away from the blade—that would only bring him closer to the vile man behind him, and he was stinky enough from here.

Harry froze, then slowly raised his hands in the air, including the hand holding his sword.

“Very impressive display, _omega,_ ” the Duke hissed, crazed. “But you won’t get rid of me that easily. I’ve dozens more men where they came from.”

Harry gulped, staring at the alpha. Louis tried to communicate to him with his eyes— _don’t stop fighting, don’t surrender—_ but Harry refused to take his eyes off the Duke.

“Okay, alright,” Harry soothed. The tone of voice he was using was one Louis had never heard from him before; the placating tone of an omega who knew their place. “I’ll put my sword down, yeah? You win."

He started lowering his arms, and Louis struggled against the Duke’s hold.

“Harry, don’t–” he bit out, then the sword pressed closer to his throat. His squeezed his eyes shut as he felt a drop of blood travel down his neck.

“It’s going to be alright, Louis,” Harry said, sword halfway to the ground.

The Duke laughed from behind him. “That’s right, Louis. Listen to your bitch."

Harry didn’t react, sword almost on the ground. He was crouching as he lowered it, eyes never wavering from the Duke’s face.

“Don’t think just because you’re the weaker sex you won’t get what’s coming to you,” the Duke hissed into Louis ear. Louis flinched away. “You and your entire crew will be hanging from their necks–”

One moment the Duke was taunting him, sword to his throat and hand fast around his waist. The next, he was gone. Louis whirled around and saw him stumble backwards, saw a spray of blood erupt from his eyeball, saw the hilt of a familiar dagger sticking out from his eye socket, buried all the way into his brain. The Duke tripped backwards, hitting the altar and collapsing against it. Blood leaked from the wound and into the dip, and with a final twitch, the Duke stilled.

Louis looked at Harry, still crouched on the ground. He stood shakily, eyes on the Duke’s body. Louis recognised the dagger that Harry had thrown; it was a perfect match for his own, after all—the one he’d left in his boot on the rowboat.

Harry had kept it close all this time.

For a moment, there was only silence.

“Your sacrifice has been accepted. Prepare to receive your riches,” came the low, cold voice of the pillar.

Louis didn’t even turn, too focused on Harry’s bleached-white face.

“Harry,” he prompted.   
  
The omega startled, then looked at Louis.

“That was–um,” he said, clearly not all there. “That was my first kill.”

“Something important,” chimed in the pillar.

Louis squeezed his eyes shut. “I guess it had to be a human sacrifice all along,” he joked, still shaking.   
  
The altar made a scraping noise behind him, but still Louis didn’t turn.

Harry didn’t laugh, but he did blink a few times like he was trying to see through a fog. “Are you alright,” he asked, moving towards Louis tentatively. Then, he seemed to remember himself, seemed to take in the blood on Louis’ clothes again, and he darted forwards. “ _Shit,_ are you alright?”

Louis nodded, catching his hands from where they were hovering over the shallow cut in his neck worriedly. “I’m fine. Most of this isn’t even mine,” he offered.

Harry coughed out a laugh. Both of them were still ignoring the movement of the stone altar behind them. Louis was sure it was very impressive, all that magic and whatnot, but.

“Are _you_ alright?” Louis asked, scanning over Harry for any wounds.

“I’m fine,” Harry rasped. “Who was that man?”

Louis shook his head. “No one important. Well, I was engaged to him once, but–”

Harry’s eyes bugged out of his head.

“It was an arranged marriage! He’s the reason I ran away to sea! Or, well, not the only reason,” Louis rushed to explain. “Mostly it was because of the crushing pressures of being in omega in British society, I’m sure you understand.”

Harry’s mouth twitched. “Yeah, I get it a little,” he murmured. Then, he sighed—a happy little noise in the middle of a clearing full of bodies, most of whom were wisely pretending to be dead. “I still can’t believe I was right.”

“Right about what?” Louis asked insistently, pushing into Harry’s space.

Harry ducked his head. “I kind of, maybe, knew you were an omega?”

Louis froze.   
  
Harry rushed to explain. “I didn’t know for sure, but I really _hoped._ It was just, you seemed like you were going into heat that night? When you broke into his ship,” he gestured to the lifeless body of the Duke sitting on the shifting altar. Louis still refused to turn. “You would say things sometimes as well, and… the way you treat me is so different to any alpha I’ve ever met. I would have still loved you if it wasn’t true, of course–” _sorry, what?_ Louis thought, but Harry just kept on talking right past that revelation, “–but I still hoped. And I’m so glad I was right,” he sighed with a grin, taking in all of Louis as if anew. “You’re perfect.”

Louis opened his mouth to respond, but found himself quite lost for words.   
  
The stone behind him stopped making that godawful scraping noise. “Receive your riches!” boomed the voice of the pillar.   
  
Harry didn’t even glance at it.

Louis didn’t either.

“Um,” Louis said, then laughed desperately. “Shit. Really?”

Harry was still grinning, but it dimmed a little. “What do you mean?”

“I _mean_ that I’ve never in my life managed to find another omega who could love me,” Louis said quickly, like pulling out a thorn. “Not a single one has ever returned my affections—don’t look at me like that, there haven't been _that_ many—and I’ve never loved any of them before, so it never mattered that much to me. Well, it mattered a little, but. Never so much as you,” Louis declared. He stood on his tiptoes and wrapped his arms around Harry’s neck, and Harry happily returned the embrace.

“You love me?” he breathed. Louis could barely hear himself think through the wafts of scent coming off him, a perfume of all of Louis’ favourite smells.

“Yes,” Louis answered. It was a simple answer to a simple question. Throughout the mess he’d made of this, he hadn’t ever doubted how he felt. “And you love me?”

Harry pressed his face against Louis’ neck again, and Louis twisted his head to give him better access. “I do,” he mumbled, wiping away the droplet of blood from the cut there, then pressing a soft kiss to it. Louis shuddered against him. “Love how brave you are,” he continued, pressing another kiss to Louis’ skin. “Love how kind you are,” another kiss, “how capable,” and another. “Love how you smell,” he said, taking a deep breath in. “How you _really_ smell.”

Louis winced. “Yeah, the magic in that amulet made me kind of stink, huh?”

Harry laughed, the sound vibrating through Louis’ body. “Yes. And I still fell in love with you, so that should tell you how serious I am about you,” he said, pulling back to smile at Louis fondly.

“Receive your riches,” came the voice of the pillar behind them. It sounded almost… pouty.

Finally, Louis turned. The altar had folded open to reveal a chest within, wooden and rotting—barely holding together. The body of the Duke had been crushed by the shifting rock, but Louis didn’t spare him a thought.

“Do you want to open it?” Louis asked over his shoulder. Harry wrapped his arms around Louis’ waist, perching his head on his shoulder. It was as if he couldn’t stop touching Louis now that he’d started, and Louis… really, really did not mind. He settled back against Harry, allowing his hands the burn away the memory of the Duke’s.

“If you don’t then I will,” came a voice.

Louis raised his eyebrows at the alpha who has spoken—Officer #5, still kneeling on the ground. She shrunk under his unimpressed gaze, then went back to pretending to be dead.

“You can open it, Captain,” Harry purred into Louis’ ear.

Louis smiled to himself for a moment, then cleared his throat. “Right you are, Master Carpenter.” He stepped out of Harry’s hold and towards the chest. He hovered a hand over the lid for a moment, then lifted it.

Inside was nothing but salt. A whole chest full of pure white flakes, sitting there and shining in the sun. Louis slammed the lid shut.

“For _fuck’s_ sake,” he muttered, running a hand over his brow.

Harry came up to stand next to him, scent tinged with confusion. “Salt?” he mused, wrinkling his nose.

“Receive your riches?” the pillar asked.   
  
Louis pulled himself together. “No, thank you,” he said, as politely as he could manage. “That’s not actually valuable anymore.”

The mouth shrunk back into the pillar almost sadly, and the altar started rebuilding itself around the chest.

“Of course the treasure turned out to be salt,” Louis muttered darkly, turning away from the pillar. “Come on, Harry, let’s go commiserate back at our boat. You lot,” he addressed the officers scattered around the clearing. “Stay out of our way and you won’t join your Captain in Navy Heaven.”

None of the bodies in the clearing moved, which Louis took as assent.

Louis grabbed Harry’s hand and started marching back towards the shore. Harry followed, tangling their fingers together sweetly.

Louis found it hard to stay angry after that.

 

 

 

“So you just kept my dagger in your shoe that whole time?”

Harry shot him a fond look then turned back to the pile of kindling in front of him. Louis was lazing in the sand watching the sunset and listening to the waves, contemplating going back for his beloved dagger so he might gift it to Harry once more.

“Of course,” Harry replied, then swore. Louis looked over in time to see him stick his finger in his mouth and glare at the sticks in front of him, still stubbornly unlit.

“Am I allowed to help yet?” Louis asked.

Harry pouted at him around his finger, and Louis gave up trying not to laugh at him.

“Come here, darling,” he giggled, opening his arms.

Harry knee walked over to him sullenly, finally pulling his finger from his mouth. Louis made a sad noise at the sight of the small cut and pulled Harry down on top of him. Harry's pout melted away the moment their bodies met. He nuzzled into Louis neck sweetly, and Louis collapsed back into the sand under the weight of him.

“So tragic that you obtained this _mortal wound_ trying to provide for me,” he whispered, pulling Harry's hand up to his face so he could stare at the tiny droplet of blood pooling on his fingertip. He had the ridiculous urge to kiss it better, and he was still riding the high of being able to act on such urges, so he pulled Harry's finger into his mouth before he could think better of it.

“That's disgusting,” Harry muttered into Louis’ neck.

Louis snorted and pulled the digit from his mouth with a wet _pop_.

“But don't they say your mate’s kiss is the most healing one of all?” Louis sassed back, tangling their fingers together despite the wetness of one of them.

Harry made sudden, happy hum against his skin. He wriggled a little, accidentally elbowing Louis in his excitement.

“Oof,” Louis grunted. “Watch it, Curly.”

“Sorry,” he mumbled, now hovering over Louis on his elbows. Their still-tangled fingers were digging into the sand above Louis’ head, and the wind was getting cooler with every passing moment. “But—did you say _mates_?”

Louis panicked. “Oh, um, surely not–”

Harry shook his head, curls bouncing with the movement. “Stop. As nice as it is to smell you now, I _don't_ want you smelling like spirits and smoke.” Louis stopped breathing, like that would make it stop. Harry smiled softly and leaned down to press their noses together. “I would love to be your mate,” he said, each word loaded with purpose and promise. “Come back to me.”

Louis let out the breath he'd been holding and Harry pressed a kiss to his forehead.

“That’s right, _breathe_. We're safe, it's just you and me. Do you remember that time in the crows nest when you pulled me off the mast so I had to stand for myself? Do you remember what you said?”

Louis frowned, blinking. “I said, ‘you're a pirate now, start acting like it.’”

Harry laughed and kissed the shell of Louis’ ear, then his cheekbone. “Exactly. That was the moment I knew I had to be yours.”

Louis smiled—the kind of smile that hurt your cheeks, the kind of smile you couldn't hold back if you tried. “Well,” he whispered, scent creeping towards cinnamon and damp earth, “if you're mine, why don't you smell like me?”

Harry lifted his head up to glare at Louis. “Oh, I wonder,” he drawled. “Could it be because you've been wearing a magical amulet that buried your wonderful scent under—”

Louis shoved his face in the dip where Harry’s shoulder met his neck, using he free hand to pull Harry’s shirt away for better access. Harry’s words died with a moan, and he didn’t ask to be marked again, because Louis was already doing it. His scruff scraped against Harry’s milky-white skin, and his teeth left little red marks as he nibbled his way towards Harry’s mouth.

Harry smiled against his lips, kissing back for only a moment before he started nosing his way towards Louis’ neck to mark him right back.

“Never been marked before,” Louis commented offhandedly, fingers spasming in Harry’s hold and chest tight as he nuzzled and kissed and licked and bit at Louis’ skin.

Harry growled against his throat, and his hips stuttered into Louis’ seemingly of their own accord. “Never?” he asked, then started sucking a love bite.

Louis licked his lips, eyes fixed on the stars above. He smelt it the second he started to get wet, and judging by the way his hips spasmed again, so did Harry.

“Never,” he choked. “They–shit. They don’t really do that in polite society, don’t you know? It’s only for— _fuck—_ it’s only for mates.”

Harry pulled off and did something strong and fast with his muscles that meant Louis was suddenly on top, disoriented and rosy-cheeked.

Harry grinned up at him, lips so red and eyes so green. “Do you think since you’re a Captain that you’ve the authority to just pronounce us mated right now?” he asked, voice like thick, dark honey. “I don’t think I can wait.”

Louis raised his eyebrows. Harry’s cock was pressed against his thigh, hard and insistent, and the slick he could smell was no longer just his own.

“Commitment does it for you?” Louis tilted his head to the side, and Harry mirrored the action. “Why does that not surprise me.” Harry shrugged, unashamed. Louis shifted against him, getting comfortable between his thighs. “Well, unfortunately, you’re going to _have_ to wait. I’m not mating you on a sandy island full of incapacitated naval officers, call me a romantic.”

Harry brought their joined hands up to his lips and pressed a kiss to Louis’ knuckle. “Aye aye, cap’n.”

Louis gave in and kissed him again. He never claimed to be a saint.

 

   

 

In the end, it was Louis who managed to get the fire lit. Harry was appropriately appreciative, and their evening was spent cuddled together on the blanket Louis had packed, feeding each other rations and being excruciatingly happy.

But when the first light of dawn rose Louis from slumber, it was to find Harry missing from his side. He sat up with a frown, taking in the dying fire and the neat campside. Clearly he’d awoken before Louis—not so long ago as well, since his scent had barely begun to fade. Louis stood and turned. He spotted a wisp of smoke on the other side of the island; clearly the officers had been smart enough to stay as far away from Louis as they could. Surely Harry hadn’t gone to talk to the them?

Louis studied the sand, spotting Harry’s tracks leading away from the campsite. He tied his hair back from his face, then his cutlass around his waist for good measure, and set off after him.

He wasn’t surprised when the tracks took him to the centre of the island, leading right into a thicket of trees. Louis paused before he broke through the treeline, studying the scene before him. Harry was leaning against the altar, polishing Louis’ knife with a rag. He’d cleaned it of blood already, and the metal glinted in the thin light of dawn. Louis searched for any signs of the Duke’s body, but found none.

“I don’t suppose you’d be willing to give back that amulet you swallowed?” Harry asked. For a moment, Louis thought he was addressing him.

Then, a mouth appeared on the pillar.

“Make a sacrifice. Receive your riches.”

“Yes, I understand,” Harry replied, eyes still on the dagger in his hands. “But he’ll probably want that back, and you obviously don’t need it.”

“Something important?” asked the pillar. It sounded as confused as a cursed mouth on a stone _could_ sound.

Harry opened his mouth to respond, then his eyes caught Louis’. His face broke into a smile, scent bubbling and curling like a pot full of boiling syrup. “Good morning, Captain,” he mumbled, hands finally stilling in their relentless polishing.

Louis walked over to him, crowding into his space like he belonged there. “Good morning, Master Carpenter,” he whispered against Harry’s lips, then pecked them.

Harry breathed him in, and Louis turned his head to study the pillar as he did. “It’s right, you know,” Louis remarked. “That necklace isn’t important at all.”  
  
Harry pulled back to frown at him. “Are you sure? The crew–”

“Will probably decide to elect someone else as Captain, I know. But I don’t care.” Louis grasped Harry’s hand—the one holding Louis’ dagger—with excruciating gentless, then guided it until the tip of the blade was hovering right over his heart. Harry allowed it to happen, always so trusting. Louis pulled the dagger closer until he could just barely feel the sharpness of it against his skin, almost puncturing his shirt. “You make me not want to care.” _You make me want to trust, too._

Harry gulped. In that moment, he reminded Louis of the first time they’d met; hands steady around a sword he had no idea how to weild, facing down an alpha just because Louis had told him to. But there were no alphas here now; just Louis, an omega with a dagger to his heart and the boy he loved in his arms.

“Are you–” Harry started, hand still holding the dagger. He didn’t even smell worried, was the thing. He just smelt overwhelmed, loud and confusing. “Are you sure you don’t want the chest of salt? Because I think our chariot awaits.”

Louis frowned. He relaxed his grip on Harry’s hand finally and looked over at the horizon. Sure enough, the familiar bow of _The Black Dagger_ was emerging from the waves. The wind was in her favour, and she’d be close enough to reach by rowboat in a handful of minutes.

Harry used the moment of distraction to pull his hand out from under Louis’. He’d pressed the dagger into Louis’ palm before he could blink, and in an instant their positions were reversed. Louis tried to wrench his hand back—away from Harry’s precious skin, away from his fluttering heart—but Harry held him fast. “Louis,” he said, voice low and serious. “If we go back on that ship without that amulet, we’ll go back as two omegas in love. If you’re not prepared far that, then I need to know right now.”

Louis blinked back a sudden onslaught of tears, ashamed at how his actions had led to this—led to his chosen mate standing before him and questioning his resolve. Harry smelt like the ocean in that moment, crashing and powerful and unfathomably deep.

“I’m not still planning on breaking your heart, if that’s what you're asking,” Louis hissed defensively. Harry didn’t rise to meet his anger; he just stared at him, green eyes heavy. “I agreed to mate you last night, did you hit your head or something?” His voice broke a little and his fingers twitched under Harry’s, but even with his hackles raised his hand didn’t waver. “Here you go again, fishing for something that’s already there.”

Harry turned Louis hand, tugging the dagger from his hold. He leant forwards and pressed a soft kiss to Louis’ cheek. “I know, I’m sorry,” he whispered, placating. Louis shivered, trying to cling to his anger, but the tide of Harry’s vanilla scent washed it away. “Come back to me.”

“Didn’t go anywhere,” Louis said petulantly. Harry laughed against his skin, and Louis smiled at the sound without meaning to.

“Not talking to you,” he said, raising his knee to shove the dagger back down his boot. “‘M talking to the peonies. They’re very shy, you know.”

Louis scowled. “I don’t know, actually,” he sniffed, then ripped himself from Harry’s loose hold. “Come on, we’ve got a ship to catch.”

Harry trotted after him, a cheeky grin on his face. “Aye–”

Louis pulled him into a kiss so as to swallow Harry’s smug words. (And maybe also because he wanted to).

 

   

  
  


Louis’ hands only started shaking after he had the rope in his hands. It was attached to a pulley hanging over the railing, and his crew was on the deck staring down at him, and all he and Harry had to do was pull themselves up.

Harry stilled, eyes boring into Louis. “Sweetheart,” he murmured. “If you’re not ready, I’ll row us back to that island right now.”

Louis rolled his eyes, adjusting his grip on the rope. “You hate rowing,” he said. Then, he started pulling.

Harry copied his movements with a proud grin, but Louis wasn’t doing this for him. Or, well… he wasn’t doing this _just_ for him.

Hands reached out to help pull them up, and Louis and Harry were tugged from the rowboat and onto the deck—the deck of Louis’ wonderful ship, the one that had taken him three years and all of his cunning (and wages) to obtain.

For a moment the only noise to be heard was the rowboat being dumped onto the deck, the soft drips of ocean water falling from it’s underside hitting the planks below.

His crew stared at him and Harry—two wet omegas with their scents all mixed up together—with a range of expressions (most of which Louis couldn’t place).

Then, Niall stepped forwards. “Captain,” he said, tipping his hat. “Excuse me if I’m out of place asking this, but…” Louis tensed. “Where the fuck is the treasure?”

A roar erupted from his crew, teasing and warm, every voice chiming in.

“Where’s the treasure, Captain!”

“Did you forget to get it?”

“What was it–”

Louis stomped his boot against the deck and everyone in his crew shut their mouths. A grin took over Louis’ face, starting at the corner of his mouth and growing until his cheeks hurt. “You’re a bunch of scurvy mongrels, you know that?”

Niall shrugged, eyes sparkling.

Louis loved them all so much.

“Well, if you must know,” he sniffed, straightening his shoulders. “Young Harold here threw a knife into the Captain of _The Cavalier's_ eye socket, and in doing so provided the sacrifice needed to reveal our booty.”  
  
Harry’s scent soured a little, and Louis glanced at him from the corner of his eye. He smiled back weakly, but Louis knew guilt when he saw it.

“What was the booty?” yelled Patricks from the back of the pack.   
  
Louis leant forwards like he was imparting a dear secret, and his crew awaited with bated breaths (all except Zayn, who Louis could see loitering on the stairs).

“The booty....” Louis started, holding the tension like a conductor at the opera. “Was _salt._ ”

“No!”

“Salt?!”

“Again?”

Louis laughed at his crew’s dramatics. “I know, I know. And since we’ve already got a chest of that in the galley, I figured we didn’t need another.”  
  
“Very wise, Captain!” Liam complimented.

Zayn moved suddenly, stalking forwards to push himself to the front of the pack. “I’m sorry to interrupt,” he said darkly, “but are you all seriously just going to ignore this?” He gestured at Louis, and Harry rested his hand on Louis’ waist protectively. “He’s a fucking omega now, am I going insane?”

Niall came forwards and shushed Zayn, but he brushed him off.

Louis cleared his throat, and all eyes turned to him. “Zayn’s right, you don’t have to ignore it. I _am_ an omega, and I’ve always been one. I pretended to be an alpha through magical means so I could earn your respect, and I’m not going to apologise for lying to you. Also, Harry and I are madly in love. We can hold a re-vote for the position of Captain if any of that bothers you.” He met Zayn’s stony gaze evenly. “Any questions?”

There was silence again, and Louis calmed himself with the sound of Harry’s heart beating in his chest and the smell of his mark still fresh on Louis’ neck.

Zayn raised his hand. “Just one,” he said.

Louis nodded.

“Where to next, Captain?”

Louis blinked. “What?”

Liam settled a hand on Zayn’s shoulder, and Niall linked their fingers together. The rest of the crew huddled closer to him as well; a wall of Alphas, Betas, and an omega, backing him up. Even Jacques, the grumpy old bastard.

“I believe your Navigator wants to know where to take your ship, Captain,” Harry muttered into Louis’ ear.

“Right,” Louis choked, heart lodged in his throat. Then, he lifted his chin. “Right. Zayn, take us as far from the galleon as you can. Chart us a course for France, and keep your eye on the horizon for any merchant ships we can plunder.” He grinned, and his eighteen best men and women grinned back. “I believe I promised you all some treasure."


	4. Epilogue

“Captain?”

Louis ignored Liam, scribbling away on the parchment in front of him. He’d so many wonderful stories to share with his mother (and only most of them were about Harry). Perhaps he should write them all in a book one day, he mused.

“Louis?”

Louis looked up finally, quill stilling. Liam was frowning down at him.

“Have you been seeing to your boy lately?”

Louis’s face twisted up in disgust. “Please, Payne, I don’t want to talk to you about this.”

Liam’s frown deepened. “I’m not trying to give you advice, I think I value my neck too much to try that again. I just mean that he seems a little off today…” Liam turned his frown to the doorway and the sliver of deck visible through it.

Louis stood. “Well, I’d best go check on him, then,” he sassed. “Since he’s such a quivering damsel and he couldn’t possibly get by without my help.”

Liam made a face at him. “I don’t mean it like that. I just mean–well, you’ll see.”

Louis made a face back, then turned to leave his quarters. His Quartermaster was being especially cryptic, and he didn’t much care for it.

The second he stepped out onto the deck, though, he understood what Liam had meant. Harry’s scent was more overpowering than usual, coming off him in sharp waves with each bang of the hammer he was wielding. He smelled a little like rotting fruit and a lot like _Louis’_.

The rest of the crew was giving him a wide berth, leaving him to hammer in peace. He was almost finished with the project he’d been working on for the past week—repairing the splintered rack that once held the crew’s lifelines fast in the event of a storm.

“Hi, darling, everything alright?” Louis asked softly, crouching down on Harry’s left. Harry winced with every stroke of the hammer, and his skin was moist with a layer of sweat.

With one final bang, the nail was pushed flush against the wood. Harry dropped the hammer as if burned, chest heaving.

“Everything _would_ be alright if everyone wasn’t so fucking loud,” he muttered darkly, a touch of petulance in his voice. “And when was the last time they bathed. Honestly.”

_Ah._

“Well,” Louis soothed, pressed his palm into the spot on Harry’s neck he’d claimed as his own. “It’s nice and quiet in my quarters, won’t you come join me?”

Harry closed his eyes and took in a deep breath. “You smell wonderful today,” he mumbled drunkenly, eyes fluttering open to meet Louis’. He didn’t answer the question, but Louis hadn’t expected him to.

They’d already agreed to spend their next heats together. Louis just hadn’t thought it would happen so _soon._

“Come on, Master Carpenter,” Louis teased, pulling Harry to a stand. “Let’s get you into my bed, yeah?”

Harry nodded urgently. “Yes, yes, yes,” he stumbled after Louis, trying to press as close as possible. “Want that.”

“I know you do, baby,” Louis shushed. Then, he glared over Harry’s shoulder at a gawking crewmember.

“Back to work, Johnson! If you’ve got time to stand about and stare, you’ve got time to swab the deck.”

The beta jumped back into action, her cheeks pink at being called out by the Captain.

Harry huffed, scent spiking with annoyance at having lost Louis’ attention. Louis smiled at him fondly and pushed him inside his quarters. He shoved his door shut then pulled a chair underneath the handle—exactly like he’d done the last time this room had seen a heat.

This time was wildly different, though. Harry didn’t have to do it alone.

Harry collapsed into Louis’ sheets, wriggling out of his shirt and breeches, freeing his hair from its tie. Louis watched fondly, trying to ignore how nervous he suddenly was.

Harry didn’t need him to be nervous right now, he just needed _him._

“Smells like you,” he slurred, rubbing his face into Louis pillow. “Like us.”  
  
Louis pulled his boots off, then his waistcoat. “It does, huh?”   
  
The next time he looked up, Harry had managed to get himself fully naked. “I hate heats,” he groaned, flipping onto his back and slinging an arm over his eyes. “Always make me feel so empty, and… itchy.”

Louis laughed, folding his shirt into his chest of clothes. “I know exactly what you mean. I always have this wild thought when I’m first starting—that I’d feel much better if I could just peel my skin off and start again.”

Harry giggled, vanilla and rum and cherries filling the room.

Louis finished removing his clothes, then moved over to the bed. He knelt down on the ground, resting his elbows on his mattress and taking in Harry’s flushed, panting, sweaty, _gorgeous_ form. “Do you still want me to help you through it?” he asked, hushed. He tried to keep the insecurity from his voice, but the look Harry sent him from under his arm told him he’d been unsuccessful.   
  
“Obviously,” he groused, shuffling closer. “The real question is why you’re still so far away.”

Louis took a deep breath in, and all he could smell was slick. It was leaking out of Harry and all over their sheets, and Louis’ head swam.

“I sort of thought our first time would be our mating ceremony,” Louis answered, more honest than he’d intended to be. He and Harry had barely progressed beyond clumsy handjobs; there hadn’t really seemed a rush, before now.  
  
Harry wriggled closer still, hands grabbing for him. “Don’t care. Mate me right now instead, just _come here.”_

Louis didn’t have to be told twice. He pushed himself onto the bed, crowding into Harry’s space and pinning him against the mattress. His beautiful chocolate curls spread across the pillow and he made the softest, happiest noise when their naked skin met.

“You’re so beautiful, my love,” Louis whispered, leaning down to kiss Harry’s nose, then his closed eyelids.   
  
“No, you,” Harry mumbled back, then whined. “Please,” he said, writhing against Louis.

“I know,” Louis said, rubbing his face into Harry’s neck. “Need me to take care of you, yeah?”

Harry whined again, louder this time. Louis made his way down his body and nibbled on his soft hips like he’d always dreamed of doing, then sucked a love bite into the swell of his stomach.

“Louis,” Harry whispered, sounding so far gone. “Sweetheart–”

Louis hummed against his skin. “Shh,” he said. “Be good for me."  
  
Harry threw his head back, hands clutching at the sheet. “Want to,” he moaned. “Want to be good for my omega.”   
  
Louis spread Harry’s thighs, fingers digging into his skin. The grin on his face was far too wide and sappy for what he was about to do, so he distracted himself by nuzzling around the patch of hair at the base of Harry’s lovely, flushed cock. He was right; it was where Harry’s scent was the strongest. “You smell so perfect right now, darling,” Louis mumbled into the v of his hip. Harry tried bucked up against him, but Louis was faster; he pinned him down with his forearm and tutted.

“Thought you were being good for your omega?”  
  
Harry bit his lip until it was almost white, unshed tears making his eyes shine.   
  
He was so beautiful like this, and he trusted Louis so much, and it didn’t matter at all that Louis had never in his life gotten this far with anyone else.

“Can I touch you? Would you like that?” Louis asked, thumb drifting closer to the point where Harry was most sensitive. Harry nodded frantically, and Louis’ hand met slick.

Louis groaned, spreading Harry’s legs wider and looking his fill. His hole was pink and leaking desperately, and it fluttered at Louis’ touch. “Don’t have a knot for you, know you want that,” Louis mourned, pressing inside with one finger, then two.

Harry moaned, trying to push his ass back into Louis’ hand. “Don’t care, I don’t care,” he said, forcing the words out. “Just want you.”

“Want me, hm?” Louis asked, pausing to curl his fingers. “Want to feel how wet I am for you?”  
  
Tears leaked out of Harry’s eyes, but Louis wasn’t worried. He always cried during his heats. And besides, how could he possibly be worried when Harry’s scent was the loudest, happiest thing he’d ever smelt?

“ _Yes,”_ he groaned, spasming as Louis stretched him open.

Louis pressed a kiss to the tip of his cock, which was leaking as well; heats were a very leaky affair all around. “Alright,” he said, then pulled his fingers out of Harry’s hole.

“Hnnng.” Harry tried to growl, but his voice was too heat-soft for it.  
  
“It’s just for a second, Curly,” Louis laughed. “I’ll give them right back.”   
  
That seemed to shut him up, leaving Louis to focus on crawling up the bed and organising himself on his knees next to Harry’s head.

“I want you to tell me if it’s too much, yeah? Claw me up if you can’t make the words,” Louis ordered, brushing Harry’s sweaty hair off his face.

Harry blinked up at him—two slow, dazed blinks.

“Okay,” he whispered. 

“Good lad,” Louis said, and Harry preened. His preening turning into a haze of lust when Louis lifted one of his legs over his torso and organised himself in his knees, ass above Harry’s head.

This time when Harry whined, Louis was sure it was loud enough that the whole ship could hear it.

Not that he cared, mind you.

“Thought you wanted to see how wet I was for you?” Louis teased, lowering himself onto all fours so he could nuzzle back into his new favourite place.

Harry’s hands grabbed his ass suddenly, adjusting his position so Harry could see better then pulling his cheeks apart.

“ _Fuck,”_ Louis swore, eyes squeezing shut.   
  
Harry shifted his hands so his thumbs were rubbing against Louis’ hole, and now it was Louis’ turn to whine.

“So wet,” Harry mumbled. “Mine.”  
  
Louis rewarded him by returning his fingers to Harry’s hole. Harry squeezed around him, like he was trying to trap Louis inside.   
  
For a few minutes, Louis simply fingered him and enjoyed the little sounds he made, the way he would smear the slick that leaked out of Louis against his skin like it fascinated him to do so.

Then, Harry’s hands gripped tight and he _pulled._ Louis’s ass landed against Harry’s hot, insistent mouth before he could even blink.

He wrapped his lips around Harry’s cock to silence the loud moan that was about to escape his lips, sucking to distract himself from Harry’s tongue as it lapped up every last drop of slick.

“Feel so full,” Louis heard Harry whisper right against his hole.   
  
Louis ducked his head and pulled off, licking his way down Harry’s dick and twisting his fingers inside of him. His heart soared hearing those words, because…

Well.   
  
If he was being honest, he’d been a _lot_ worried about this exact thing—their heats. Louis’ brain always screamed at him, _get a knot inside you, where is it–_ whenever he was in heat. He’d prepared himself for disappointment; to be disappointing.

But the way Harry was lapping at his hole, so sweet and happy and _right,_ the way he stretched around Louis’ fingers like he couldn’t want for anything else (except maybe Louis’ cock, once he was desperate enough)—well, it was perfect.

“I love you so much,” Louis whispered into Harry’s pubic hair.

Harry moaned something unintelligible into his ass, but Louis knew what he meant.

_I love you too._

 

 

  


 

“Come on, Emily; everyone knows the best one is Anne Bonny and Mary Reed. ‘ _Elizabeth Swan and Will Turner_ ,’” Ronan mocked. “You sound like an idiot, they’re not even _real.”_

Emily crossed her arms and glared.

The sounds of the library—jabbering children, clacking keyboards, pages turning—were interrupted by a squeaking wheel as the librarian walked past with his reshelving cart.

“What about The Captain and The Carpenter? Heard of that one?” asked the librarian, leaning an elbow against the table and inserting himself into the conversation.

Ronan wrinkled his nose at the random omega—though he was very attractive, in a certain sharp way. “Who are they?"  
  
Emily’s eyes lit up. “I’ve heard of them!” She leant forwards, arms waving as she told the story. “They were both omegas in the 1600s or something, their ship was called _The Red Sword–_ ”

“– _The Black Dagger,”_ corrected the librarian under his breath.

“–And they ruled the seven seas for thirty years, buckling every swash and breaking every stereotype!” She swished her hands through the air as if weilding a mighty blade. “I’m not surprised you’ve never heard of them, Ronan,” she sniffed. “They’re a legend among omegas.”

Ronan rolled his eyes. “I still think its Anne Bonny and Mary Reed,” he snapped back, then giggled and ducked as Emily threw a pen at him.

The librarian snatched the pen from the air with a twinkle in his eye. “Well, I can see you’re unconvinced,” he said. “Why don’t you read this, see how you feel.”   
  
Ronan jumped back as a heavy book landed on the desk in front of him. The squeaky wheel started up again, and the librarian had rounded a corner by the time he pulled the dusty front cover open.

“What is it?” Emily asked, leaning over the desk.

Ronan shrugged. “Something boring, probably,” he said.

“‘ _Mother has informed me the Duke has_ asked _for my hand in marriage_ ,’” Emily read aloud. “I think its a story.”

Ronan closed the cover of the book flick of his wrist. “I’ll read it later,” he said.

  
  


_The End._


End file.
